The Truest Heart
by Lilac Reverie
Summary: Third story in my trilogy, following Victoria through the same tumultuous years.
1. Chapter 1 - Part One

_**Author's Note: **This is the third and final installment of my trilogy around NWZ, this one (you asked for it) centered on Victoria. (I was going to combine hers and Marianna's stories herein, but decided I have enough original material that, if I divorce Marianna's from NWZ and flesh it out, I'll have my first novel. Wish me luck!) _

_Please note that I haven't seen any of the series since the mid-nineties, so I'm making up details and will inevitably get most or all of them wrong. All errors mine, and my apologies if any rub you the wrong way._

_I strongly suggest you read my trilogy in the order it was written: first _The Ballad of El Halcón, _then_ The Measure of a Man, _and this one last. As with _Measure_, this will be a long fic, although hopefully not as long, but I will post several chapters at a time as they are completed._

_As always, I do not own these characters._

_This fic is dedicated to the late Patrice Martinez, who played Victoria; a wonderful actor and astonishing beauty, who will always be deeply missed._

* * *

_**The Truest Heart**_

_**Part One: Señorita Escalante**_

_**Chapter One**_

"_Victoria!_" The shout came from a tall, slender boy, just brushing his teens, who came dashing into the mostly-empty cantina, looked around for a moment, then caught her father's jerk of the head towards the kitchen and ran to that door. He met her there as she responded to his call, grabbed her hands and pulled her back through and out the little back door into the unused patio behind the cantina. Her plain blue cotton dress and bare feet made a stark contrast to his tailored – even at thirteen – pants, boots, and embroidered shirt.

"Diego, what on earth is it?" Victoria asked, amusement making her eleven-year-old face crinkle at her friend. Several inches shorter than Diego, her long black hair was tied up in a single braid that hung well down between her shoulder blades.

"It's happening! It's really happening! Father just got the letter from the headmaster! I'm going to Mexico City, to the San Isidro school! I've been accepted for this fall!" His words tumbled out over each other in his excitement, matching the unruly black hair tumbling over his forehead. He hadn't let go of her hands.

Squealing with a joy that matched his, Victoria pulled her hands out and reached up to fling her arms around his taller neck. "Diego! That's wonderful! I'm so happy for you!" Unselfconsciously they hugged each other close, before he pulled away again. The two year difference in ages, not to mention their different social strata, might seem to make them odd companions, but their respective fathers – each a widower with an only child – being close friends since before they were born had cemented their own friendship just as tightly.

"I wish you could go, too," he told her earnestly.

"But girls can't go to school," she reminded him, not without a pang. "Not past the basics."

"I know. But Father Bernardo says you're the smartest girl he ever taught to read and cipher! I know you'd do as well as me!"

"Well, you'll just have to do well for both of us, then!"

"I will! And I'll write to you, too! Only I don't know how often the mail will get here. But will you write back to me? I'm sure my father or yours can show you how!"

"I will," she promised in return, but then, "but are you leaving already? It's only April! The term doesn't start until fall, does it?"

"It's such a long way that it will take us ages to get there! We're leaving in a few days, as soon as Father can make the arrangements." Then his boyish face cleared from its habitual worried expression. "But not until next week! And I'm certain Father will want to come into town to see your father before we go – and we'll be here on Sunday for mass. This isn't goodbye, not yet!" Suddenly he gasped. "Except it is for right now. I've got to get back out to the ranch. I just rode in to tell you the news! Bye, Vic!" And without giving her time to react, he dashed back through the cantina and out to his horse tethered in front, scrambled aboard, and was gone in an instant, leaving a cloud of dust behind in the pueblo's single street.

Victoria had run after her friend to wave at his back, with some exasperation, from the porch. "He didn't even look back," she complained to her father, Paulo, as he came to put his arm around her shoulders with a grin. A small, wiry man with curly salt-and-pepper hair, he was nattily dressed for the pueblo, in leather boots, black pants, a white button-down shirt, and brown leather vest.

At his questioning look, she gave him the news. "I knew he wouldn't stay here," Paulo Escalante commented. "He's too intelligent, and ambitious. Oh, not for adventure or high office," he explained with a dismissive wave. "He's thirsty for knowledge, that Diego de la Vega. He won't come back until it is quenched."

"But he _will_ come back some day, won't he?" she asked plaintively. "He's my best friend!"

Paulo smiled down at her. "I'm sure he will, querida. This is his home." Then he sobered. "But when he does, things will be very different. He will be a man, and you will be a woman. You must take care never to be alone with him again. In fact," he went on, a far more serious note than customary suddenly in his voice, "you must begin to take care right now, today, _never _to be alone with any male, of any age – except for me, of course. Especially, you must never allow anyone to pull you out the back door like that again – or anywhere else that is secluded."

She knew what he was obliquely referring to – she helped him run a cantina, after all. She had heard enough of the sly suggestions of their patrons, seen enough of their sideways appraising glances at her already-lovely face atop her still-childish body, that she had asked pointed questions of her father; which he, reddening but determined to do the best he could by his only child, had answered honestly.

"Papa! I'm only eleven! Are you saying people already question my virtue?" She was outraged by the thought.

He swiveled to face her, turning her by the shoulders as well so they looked squarely at each other, even stepping off the porch so they were nearly the same height. "Listen to me, querida. Your virtue, and your reputation, are two entirely different things. One can be sullied, even ruined, without the other being touched. And _both_ are important to keep pure. Especially here, doing what we do. Do you understand me?"

Looking solemnly into his loving, worried brown eyes, Victoria slowly nodded. Losing her mother years before, and living in the cantina since birth, had made her wise beyond her years. "Yes, Papa. I will be careful," she promised, with all the gravity of one much older.


	2. Chapter 2

_**Chapter Two**_

"Victoria! Look who has finally come home!"

Her father's shout brought sixteen-year-old Victoria's attention from the beer she was carefully drawing to the door – then she gasped and almost dropped the glass. Framed in the doorway, now towering over his father and hers, was a boy – no, a man – she hadn't seen in over five years. She managed to keep hold of the glass, turned and set it before the man at the bar, then wiped her hands on her apron and walked quickly around the end of the bar to greet the trio.

Diego, now eighteen, had shot up to well over six feet. She gaped up at him. "I can't believe it! Diego!" She almost went to throw her arms around her old best friend's neck as she always had, but something held her back. He wasn't moving towards her for their old customary greeting, either. Instead, he held out his hand, and when she placed hers in it, he gave a very nearly courtly bow over it.

"Victoria. I wouldn't have known you, either. You are more lovely than I ever dreamed." His eyes glowed, telling their own story. He didn't glance down, but suddenly she was excruciatingly aware that she was wearing her oldest, plainest dress – which was really a couple of inches too short – well, five inches – stained apron and ratty old shoes; while _he_ was dressed, as always, in his starched, spotless finery. She stifled a half-formed urge to run upstairs and change.

Flustered – she had never been greeted like that before – she pulled her hand back. "We will have to start calling you _Don_ Diego, won't we?" He definitely deserved the honorific now. Glancing at his father beside him, she beamed, on safer ground. "Tio Alejo," she said, using her affectionate old nickname for him, "how are you?"

Don Alejandro, at least, had not changed, his white hair framing his handsome, friendly face. He leaned over and kissed her cheek, beaming back. "Better than ever, now that Diego has come home at last."

Her poise recovered, Victoria finally took note of the last member of the party: a slight, small boy standing uncertainly between the two de la Vegas, his brown eyes round under furrowed brows. "And who is this?"

Diego put his hands protectively on the boy's two shoulders. "This is Felipe – at least, that's what I'm calling him. I don't know his real name." At her astonished look, he went on without prompting. "He's an orphan, as best as I can determine. I found him under rather dire circumstances on my journey north. I took several days trying to locate his family, but no one in the area could even give me his name. So finally, I brought him with me."

"That's amazing," she breathed, then smiled down at the boy. He looked to be about seven – or maybe a bit older, if he were small for his age. "Hello, Felipe. Welcome to Los Angeles."

Felipe stayed silent, not reacting in any way. Diego rushed to tell her, "He's apparently deaf and mute – he cannot speak or hear – and possibly not even remember anything before I found him." He gave an embarrassed shrug. "It's a very long story."

Victoria took a quick gasp – she'd been about to drown in his eyes again. To recover, she looked back down at the boy, smiled, and held out one hand to him. "Well, I'm sure he can still give me a hand in the kitchen. Felipe? Will you come help?" A tiny part of her mind wondered why she was talking directly to a deaf and mute boy, but she refused to back down or glance up at those mesmerizing eyes again.

Felipe craned his neck to look over his shoulder at his benefactor, who gave him an encouraging smile and nod, and a tiny push towards her on his slender shoulders. So he very tentatively placed his little hand in hers, and let her gently pull him forward and around the bar.

"Get us lunch, please, Victoria," her father called after them, then seated himself and his two guests at their favorite table beside the stairs, near the front door.

Victoria led Felipe through the door into the kitchen, then halted him for a moment while she hunted out the old step stool she had outgrown several years before and placed it before the counter next to the stove. At her gesture, he gingerly stepped onto it and waited. Plates, bowls, and cups were stacked on shelves above the counter in easy reach. She pointed to the plates, motioned taking one down, and held up four fingers. When he carefully picked up a single plate and put it on the counter, she put down one of the fingers – and he caught on immediately, taking down three more plates one by one, checking her fingers as she put them down – _he couldn't count any more, either?_ The process was repeated with four bowls. Then she mimed putting a bowl on a plate and handing it to herself. When he mimicked that, she took them, turned to the stove, and ladled the hearty beef stew which had been simmering there all morning into the bowl, set it onto her tray on the other side, quickly snatching and rolling up a tortilla from the stack she'd finished making a short time before and adding it to the plate. Then that whole process was repeated three more times, and she added four spoons to her tray in between.

When the last was prepared, she had Felipe hop back down off the stool, then handed him the last filled plate and bowl, making sure he used two hands. "This is for Don Alejandro," she said slowly, then mimicked the old man's leonine hairstyle by smoothing the hair back from her face with both hands, and adding a mustache with thumb and finger. Felipe's face cleared and he nodded. She circled her finger to turn him around towards the door, quickly picked up her tray with the other three, and followed, calling out to the customer blocking the boy's path to move him aside.

The men were deep in conversation by that time, when Felipe startled Don Alejandro by appearing at his elbow with the bowl of stew. The elder took it from him carefully with the kind of gracious thanks only a well-brought-up don could manage. By that time, Victoria had served the others, placing the last bowl – Felipe's – before the empty chair across from Don Alejandro's. She motioned him around the table and onto it – but he was far too short. Without consultation, he took it upon himself to kneel in the chair instead, sitting on his heels. Now he could eat, and he positively beamed over his shoulder at the young woman.

Diego's eyebrows had shot up to his smooth, black hair. He looked up at his old friend with amazement. "That is the first time I have _ever_ seen the boy smile. Thank you."

Now _she_ was amazed. "That must have been a very dire situation indeed that you found him in?"

He sighed and nodded, then glanced across at Paulo, as well. "Did the two of you hear about the minor rebellion south of here this spring?"

Paulo nodded, answering for them both. "Wasn't the army sent out to quell it?"

Diego nodded. "I can't answer for their effectiveness. I came along right after a battle. Well... forgive me, both of you... it wasn't a battle, it was a massacre. Of an entire town. From all I could determine, he was the sole survivor. I found him... well, as I said," he amended quickly, waving a hand. "It was horrific. And he must have witnessed it. I think..." He paused, uncertain.

"What?" Victoria prompted him.

"I think he may have somehow blocked his own memory, and perhaps his voice and his hearing, too, although I have no way of being sure. So that he didn't have to remember what he had seen."

His listeners gasped slowly, turning to stare at each other in horror for the implications. Victoria noticed that the boy in question had begun eating, ignoring everything around him – but he had waited, watching, to see precisely what to do. Don Alejandro had smoothly picked up his own spoon and tortilla to show him, seemingly without noticing his audience, and Felipe had carefully mimicked his actions. The boy was astonishingly neat for such a young child, eating slowly and not spilling a drop.

"So he has no family at all? No home?" she wondered aloud.

"None that I could find," Diego replied.

"Well, he has one now, doesn't he? Otherwise, I would be very happy to take him in!" she said quickly, surprising even herself with her instant maternal reaction.

But Don Alejandro was smiling back. "Of course he has one, with us. With me," he amended mysteriously, before turning to his grown son. "And it's a very good thing, isn't it, Diego?" he asked blandly.

"What does that mean?" Paulo beat Victoria to the question.

Diego was actually blushing. "It means I'm leaving again, very soon. I've been accepted to the University in Salamanca, in Old Spain. I got the letter this past winter."

"University! Diego, that's wonderful!" Victoria gushed, and – feeling she was being greatly daring – she put her hand on his shoulder as he beamed up at her. Suddenly she was aware of shouts behind her – other patrons had heard, and were likewise congratulating the young man. She dropped her hand and stepped back as he stood and turned to shake several hands.

When he sat down again, Paulo said thoughtfully, "I don't understand one thing. How will you communicate with the boy?" he asked his old friend.

"The same way my aunt, Tia Matilda talked – with hand signals," was Don Alejandro's reply. "You remember her, don't you?"

"Of course! I had forgotten – she died so long ago, God rest her."

"Diego, do you remember the signals? – Of course you do, I forgot as well." Don Alejandro turned a rueful glance back to Paulo. "The two of them could chatter faster than I could see."

"I do remember," Diego confirmed. "I even taught a couple of them to Felipe on the way north."

"Will you teach me, as well?" Victoria asked, not wanting to lose the fragile, fledgling connection she felt with the boy. When Don Alejandro assented, of course!, she smiled down at Felipe and squeezed his shoulders. He looked back and up, and smiled timidly back at her.

Over the next few weeks, she _did_ deliberately choose her best clothes and shoes every day, carefully ironing them and keeping her apron spotless – all to no avail. Although they exchanged words – and glances – many times, and even ate several meals together – along with their fathers, of course – Don Diego never once even attempted to speak to her alone. So much for guarding her virtue and reputation, she thought wryly. A few times she _thought_ she saw something in his eyes, but she was never quite certain. She had better luck getting to know the sweet, silent Felipe.

And then, all too soon, he left again, boarding a ship this time down at the port bound for Panama and the first part of his long journey east; leaving behind a gaping hole in more than one life.


	3. Chapter 3

_**Chapter Three**_

"Alejandro! Welcome, old friend! Please, come and sit down." Paulo greeted Don Alejandro as he walked through the door of the cantina, and met him at his favorite table in the front – which everyone in town knew to leave empty for him – with their customary bottle of red and three glasses.

Victoria joined them a moment later. "How goes it on the ranch? Have you heard from Diego lately?"

"Not since the last letter I showed you," Alejandro answered the last question first, "but he's very busy studying. He's only been in Salamanca for a year." He turned to Paulo. "But are you all right, amigo? You look very tired."

"Eh," Paulo brushed it off. "These days... and this new Alcalde... troubled times in the pueblo." His listeners nodded.

"The new Sergeant, Mendoza, seems to be working out well, though, doesn't he?" Alejandro asked.

"He can't do much against Alcalde Ramone, since he is his commanding officer," Victoria put in, "but he's so friendly and easy-going that people trust him. He seems to be doing what he can to cushion the worst."

"But as you say, he can't do much," her father answered. "Alcalde Ramone seems bent on enriching himself, to the detriment of the peasants – even the dons, come to that."

"It would be much better for Los Angeles if we could elect our own Alcalde, rather than accepting whomever the crown sees fit to send. That may have worked in the beginning, but my father should never have agreed to that continuing clause in the charter," Don Alejandro harrumphed, to general agreement.

"Ah," Paulo sighed, his eyes twinkling, "if only the Alcalde had a wife, who could soften his rough edges..."

"Don't start that again, Father," Victoria huffed. "You know very well why I refused his advances when he arrived. And I was right not to trust him, wasn't I?"

"You certainly were," Don Alejandro answered for him. "He showed his true colors after a time: greedy and uncaring. It's too bad his character doesn't match his handsome face."

Paulo's eyes had not stopped their twinkling, and Victoria knew what was coming next: teasing about her waiting for her best friend to come home. She glared at him fiercely to stopper it – and was saved the next moment by the arrival of the now nine-year-old Felipe, who had been delivering some items for the poor to the padre across the plaza. Her face instantly clearing, she grinned at the boy, who gave her a shy smile in return. "Come help me serve lunch?" she asked him, holding out her hand, and getting his agreeing nod, she rose to lead him to the kitchen.

Only a few minutes later, however, Don Alejandro shouted her name, distraught, bringing her at a run from the kitchen, Felipe at her heels. Her father was clutching at his chest, his face blotchy and turning purple – and even as she flew the last few steps, he toppled sideways onto the wooden floor. _"PAPA!" _she shrieked, diving to catch his head before it banged onto the planks.

"Get the doctor!" she heard Don Alejandro order someone tersely over her, then he was kneeling on Paulo's other side. But it was already too late. Looking up into his daughter's frightened, beloved face, he tried to smile, but it was only a pained grimace. Then all at once, his eyes unfocused, his breath seeped out, every muscle suddenly relaxed, his hand fell to the floor... and he was gone.

Victoria couldn't believe it; it had happened so monstrously fast. _"Papa!"_ she kept calling, kept patting his cheeks. _"Papa, NO!"_

"Santa Maria," Don Alejandro muttered beside her, crossing himself automatically. He looked up at the patrons crowding around – not too close – horror written on every face. "Go and get Father Patricio," he told one of them. Then he reached his arms around the wildly sobbing girl, still trying to wake her father up. "Victoria," he called, over and over. "Stop. Paulo is gone. Stop."

At last she heard, and let him pull her away. He reached past her and gently closed Paulo's eyes, catching his own breath as he did this last service for his best friend. Then Father Patricio was there, kneeling with his cross and vial of holy water, checking for a pulse, beginning the last rites. Don Alejandro and Victoria waited beside him on their knees together, crossing themselves at the end. As the Padre rose, he motioned several men to come and take the body, lift it carefully, and carry it across to the church. Don Alejandro, rising himself, drew Victoria also to her feet and a few steps back to give them room. Father Patricio blessed a benediction on the still shocked young woman – sobbing as she stared after her father's still form being carried out the door, she barely noticed – then he, too, followed the tiny procession.

After a moment, Don Alejandro was able to look around. Half a dozen patrons were still gathered near the bar, shocked into silence. "I am sorry," he managed to choke out. "The cantina is closed." Nodding, each man placed his glass on the bar, and filed out as well.

At last, Victoria managed to turn to her father's friend. "What am I going to do?" she asked brokenly. "Tio Alejo? What am I going to do?"

"Carry on," he replied as levelly, as kindly, as he could. "As we always do. I will be here, my sweet girl. I will look after you." Suddenly he remembered the boy, and began looking around. "Felipe?" he called out of habit. "Felipe?"

And there he was, sitting hunched over in the corner by the office door, knees pulled up to his chest, his head upon them, his arms wrapped tightly around both, visibly shaking. "Dios mio," Don Alejandro whispered, walking swiftly to kneel by the boy's side. "Felipe?" he asked again, putting on hand softly on a shoulder.

Victoria had followed, kneeling likewise on by Felipe's other knee, and putting her own hand on his arm. At that, he looked up at her, his face so full of fear and grief and tragedy that she gasped. _What horrors had this sudden death dredged up from his memory?_ There was no way to know. "It will be all right," she told him, wishing desperately she could believe it herself. Then, on impulse, she pulled him into her arms, and he flung his own around her neck and began wildly, silently sobbing – which of course restarted her own tears.

All Don Alejandro could do was sit heavily beside these two young people he loved so deeply, wrap his arms around them both, and let his own tears flow.

* * *

At midmorning on the following day, half the town came to the tiny church for Paulo Escalante's funeral, quickly overflowing the building until the entire plaza was filled with silent mourners. The owner of the cantina had been loved and respected by all.

Victoria didn't notice, standing in front between Don Alejandro and young Felipe, holding tightly onto both their hands as if they were her only anchors to the world, tears streaming uncheckably down her cheeks. Don Alejandro had to pry her hand loose in order to step forward to give his eulogy, his voice cracking with emotion. Afterwards, he joined five other men in carrying his friend's coffin out the side door and to the gravesite, Victoria and Felipe trailing immediately behind, where Paulo was gently lowered into the earth as the Padre intoned the traditional, comforting final prayers, "ashes to ashes, dust to dust". The two chief mourners – Felipe shook his head no – each took a spadeful of dirt and, shaking, let it fall gently into the grave, then stood to the side as neighbor after neighbor walked by, offering a hug or a handshake, a gentle word of condolence, a graveside farewell, perhaps a spadeful of dirt or an offering of a single flower. It took over an hour for the plaza to empty. She did not notice when Don Alejandro leaned over for a quiet word with a handful of the mourners, who each nodded in return.

At last all were gone. The three of them stood silently for a moment more, looking at the now-filled, flower-bedecked grave, then Don Alejandro made her turn and walk away, leading her back across the plaza to the cantina. Victoria unlocked the door and let them in, allowing Don Alejandro to sit her at their favorite front table, Felipe slipping into the next chair. Then he walked behind the bar and grabbed the bottle of their best brandy and three shot glasses – the boy was old enough for a much-needed sip – set them on the table, then went into the kitchen to find the basket of nuts and a couple of slim nutcrackers, to give nervous fingers something to do.

Suddenly voices sounded behind him in the main room, and he turned back, pausing in the doorway to take in the scene. Alcalde Luis Ramone, who hadn't attended the funeral, had let himself into the cantina, and was ostentatiously looking around the room. The man was undoubtedly handsome, if one didn't notice his character, with smooth brown hair and flashing white teeth above his always-impeccable clothing.

"Very nice," he said approvingly. "Yes, I think this will make a very nice addition to my holdings."

"What are you blathering about?" Victoria said up to him with some heat. "This is _my_ cantina. My father left it to me."

"You... are underage. You are seventeen years old," he informed her, venomously. "You are legally unable to own property. Which leaves this cantina open for seizure by the authorities. Oh, look at that – that's me!" And he grinned viciously.

Victoria drew a sharp breath to reply, but he cut her off again, grinning even more widely. "Of course, if we were _married_," he said silkily, "I would certainly let you run the cantina, as a hobby – only until our children began arriving, of course."

Now Victoria _really_ saw red. Her jaw jutted out, and she pushed her chair out from the table, preparing to spring up and do battle.

"Excuse me," Don Alejandro said mildly, coming around the end of the bar. Victoria glanced at him, and he waved her down, then turned towards Ramone with a bland smile.

Ramone took a deep breath and nearly growled. "De la Vega, this is _none_ of your business," he began huffing, but Don Alejandro smoothly interrupted.

"I _am_ sorry, Alcalde, but it most definitely _is_ my business – literally." He reached into his vest pocket and pulled out a folded piece of paper, which he waved before the other man's eyes. "This is Paulo Escalante's will, written two years ago. It was witnessed, you will note, by Don Pedro, Don Julio, Don Orlando, Señor Costa, and Señor Martinez," – each of the men he had spoken with by the graveside. "Those gentlemen, by the way, are waiting outside in the plaza, should you wish to speak to them to verify the will. The contents, however, are simple," he went on grandly, enjoying every syllable of the Alcalde's comeuppance. "Paulo left this cantina to his daughter, Victoria, _in trust,"_ he stressed quickly as Ramone drew breath, "and named _me_ as the executor of that trust, to hold the cantina for her until she comes of age, on her twenty-first birthday." He smiled, as politely as Ramone had been vicious a moment before. "So you see, this _is_ my business, and my cantina, for the next three and a half years."

The Alcalde had snatched the will from his hands as he was speaking, and was furiously perusing it. They watched the line of red slowly creep up his neck, before he looked up again at Don Alejandro with a snakelike glare.

"Do you wish to speak to the witnesses?" Don Alejandro inquired pleasantly.

"No. That will not be necessary," was the snarled reply. He had been beaten, and he knew it. Ramone slapped the will against the other man's chest, who grabbed it quickly, then whirled around on his heel and rapped out of the cantina, slamming the door behind him without another word.

The two youngsters sat gaping after the Alcalde for a moment, before turning back to their benefactor. "Is that thing genuine?" Victoria breathed.

"Of course!" he reassured her. "Not only that, but it is the fourth one he wrote, one every two or three years, to keep it current – and with plenty of upstanding, living witnesses."

"Then why did he never tell me?" she was bewildered.

Don Alejandro gave her his kindest smile. "Because he was hoping it would never be used, and he didn't want to worry you with it!"

She shook her head, almost violently. "I would have been less worried if I had _known!"_ she wailed.

He sighed, looking down at the table for a moment. "Ah, well, a loving father... does not always make the best decisions," he said apologetically. She sighed, then nodded.

He took a quick breath then. "If you will excuse me a moment, I need to tell the witnesses they can go home." A rap on the table caught his attention, though – Felipe patted himself on the chest as he stood, grinning. "You will do it? Thank you!" And the boy ran out to do the task – as the five men were all standing clustered with their wives on the cantina porch, watching the disappointed Alcalde stalk back to his office, it was quickly done, with two simple hand signs. The men thanked him and turned to go, and Felipe was back inside in time to see Don Alejandro take Victoria's hands and draw her to her feet. "Now, listen, my dear. The most important thing is this: I may legally own this place, but that is only on paper. I have _no_ intention of trying to run it. This cantina is all yours, Victoria. I will be here whenever you need me, if you ever need advice or assistance – or interference with the Alcalde, or other busybodies. But the cantina is _yours. _Your father trained you very well, and I know you can run it all by yourself."

She flung her arms around his neck and hugged him tightly, unable to speak from gratitude for a moment. Then, pulling back, she asked seriously, "Will you stay here for the first few days? Even if you just sit here at your table?"

"Of course," he smiled, then added, "But not today, and perhaps not tomorrow. Come, my dear. Get your things, and come back out to the hacienda with us for at least another night. I will not leave you here alone. We will return tomorrow – or the next day – to reopen for business."


	4. Chapter 4

_**Chapter Four**_

_Six years later..._

In the alley behind the cantina, fifteen-year-old Felipe finished methodically hitching the horse she borrowed from the hacienda each week to Victoria's wagon, and carefully rechecked each piece as she locked the money in the strong box, tucked the key into her pocket, and checked that the burlap bags and canvas tarpaulin were folded and stowed under the seat. Then he helped her up to the seat, handed her the reins, then tossed her a jaunty salute, swung aboard his paint pony, and turned its head towards home. She grinned at his back as she scratched Gato, the all-black current holder of the title Cantina Cat, who kept the rodent population in check in return for the occasional saucer of milk, between his ears and then evicted him from the wagon, then flicked the reins to start the mare towards the port.

She didn't mind this trip to purchase supplies from the dockside stores, made each Monday when the cantina was closed. As this was the last Monday of the month, however, she had another, more important errand as well: making the monthly payment on her mortgage to the agents of the bank down in Mexico City. (She wondered, as she always did, why they didn't open an office now in the pueblo, as it was easily several times the size of the port town; but that was another mystery.) She had taken the loan a little more than a year ago, after consulting with Don Alejandro, and used the money to purchase the land and empty buildings immediately behind the cantina. The plan was to tear them down, widen the patio and add a roof and tables, then put up a block of rooms for rent around the outside of the patio, expanding the cantina's hotel space. She couldn't afford to hire the workers until she had paid off the loan – but after today, there were only two payments left.

The real reason she looked forward to this time was for the pleasure of being able to simply sit and think, uninterrupted by the thousand-and-one tasks that constantly pulled her in ten different directions her every waking moment the rest of the week. Whether she directed her thoughts, or they simply drifted, it was a relief to be alone in her own head for the two-hour drive in each direction.

Today, as the houses of the pueblo fell behind her and she started down the winding road seaward, those thoughts kept swirling, as they often did, between two specific, supremely exasperating men: Diego and Zorro.

She had truly been anticipating her best friend's long-awaited return from university four years ago; her father's teasing before he had died had been on target. But the moment Diego had finally appeared, she had been... utterly disappointed. Even now, in her own mind, it was difficult to find the words, or to pin down what had happened. He had changed, completely. The fearless, active, inquisitive boy she'd tagged along behind all those years before was gone, replaced by a bookish, fastidious weakling – even, when she was feeling most harsh, rather a coward.

She had a mental picture flash, of a ten-year-old Diego punching an older boy who had tried to bully her in the nose, making it bleed. Tio Alejo had constricted him to the hacienda for a week, but had done nothing else, especially after the boy had sworn he had only acted to protect her, Victoria's, honor. Now... she couldn't imagine _Don_ Diego swinging a fist at anyone.

Nowadays, he was only interested in his books, his scientific journals in several languages, and his long, slow correspondence with a wide range of leading men on the continent. These materials arrived regularly by the crateful, coming by ship up the coast to end their laborious journey from his agents in Madrid and Mexico City. There was probably such a crate waiting at the port today, she thought a bit sourly, which she would dutifully put in her wagon and carry back. Fetching such things for the de la Vegas was part of the informal agreement about her borrowing the horse, since she couldn't afford to keep one herself, standing in a barn and eating its head off six days out of seven.

But... she still loved Diego. She had since she was a little girl, and always would, in one manner or another. She loved his intellect, his curiosity, his vast knowledge, his fine patrician manners, his lofty moral standards – when he allowed them to show. He was still her best friend, even without punching bullies. She knew his father was exasperated at him constantly, even as he tried – every day – to pull his son out of his books and get him involved in the workings of the ranch or the myriad of issues roiling the pueblo. She sometimes wondered if _she_ might be able to work some magic to transform him back, if they were married. Not that _that_ was ever likely to happen. He did still care for her – sometimes she caught him looking at her the way he used to – but he always, _always_, dropped his eyes and turned away; too timid to say anything.

And then... whatever problem Diego had or represented, had been overshadowed by the first merest glimpse of someone new, someone mysterious. A masked man – she snorted. _A masked swordsman on a horse, really, I ask you!_ she thought sarcastically, but was unable to continue the detached derision. Zorro was... exciting, mysterious... and honorable, with his demonstrated goal of defending the moneyless, landless peasants who could not defend themselves against brigands or the Alcalde's schemes. And utterly unobtainable. She – and everyone else – only had the briefest, occasional glimpses of the man. Nor had anyone ever been able to figure out his identity, as in the months and years just before his appearance, thousands – perhaps over ten thousand – new residents had moved into the general area around the pueblo of Los Angeles, and more in the months after. Far too many to ever be able to narrow down Zorro's identity, although a great many had tried, including Victoria herself.

But... _he_ cared for her, too. He _looked_ at her, his eyes twinkling through his mask. He _smiled_ at her. He _spoke_ to her – briefly, a few words, but friendly and warm, a hint of fire. He had even _rescued_ her directly, a few times. Had taken time to sneak in and see her, if only for a few careful, stolen moments each time. And had even brought her flowers, plucked from a field, once or twice. Such a tiny, shaky basis for building the idea of a relationship. But still... she knew, in her heart, that she would marry him in a heartbeat if he asked, regardless of his actual identity or true appearance under the mask. Even though she knew _that_ would be impossible, too – even if he didn't, as she sometimes speculated, have a wife and six children at home – anyone she married would be instantly suspect by the Alcalde, who had his furious sights set on Zorro's lifeless body.

_Be honest, Victoria,_ she told herself sternly. She would marry _either one of them_, Zorro _or_ Diego, in a city minute, if _either one of them_ would man up, stand up, open his mouth, and just _ASK_ her.

But neither had. And the more time passed slowly by, the more it looked like neither would _ever_ make such a move.

Not that she was simply desperate for a husband – any husband. In fact, she had turned down several offers over the years. No, what she wanted was a _partner_. Someone to go through life with, to share the joys and sorrows, triumphs and tragedies, and all the rest. Someone she could respect and love, who loved and respected her. And children – yes, she wanted children, so much that it hurt sometimes, but not without a loving, involved husband to help her raise them. But she was desperately afraid, and more so each passing year, that she would end up alone and lonely, a stooped crabby old woman running the cantina by herself, arguing with the Alcalde – whoever it was – out of habit, feeding stray cats for their questionable company.

_So why didn't she make a move? _came a tiny voice from inside, from her rebellious, unconventional streak – she _did_ have one, regardless of how she tried to stifle it, to stave off those precise nasty insinuations from the group of Dons and Doñas who never saw her as anything other than the barefoot daughter of a shopkeeper, _the tavern girl_.

_But she had tried,_ she answered the voice, her cheeks flaming. The memories of that _stupid_, benighted "gypsy love potion" she had impulsively bought to attempt to bind Zorro to her invariably made her squirm. And it had worked, too – on the wrong man! She had carefully divided it into two glasses of wine, had even swallowed hers – but then, the second her back was turned, the other had been grabbed and gulped down by none other than the new Alcalde, Don Ignacio de Soto! Arriving a few months before, after the previous Alcalde, Luis Ramone, had unexpectedly died, he had initially been the subject of the high hopes of his new subjects, but had swiftly dashed them all, as he proved to be even more dangerous, sly, greedy and venal – if less cowardly – than his predecessor.

She literally squirmed on the wagon's seat, remembering how they had made googly eyes at each other over the following twenty-four hours – thank all the saints they had done nothing more than hold hands! She didn't think she could have survived the memory of a kiss! And then, quite abruptly, the potion had worn off them both at nearly the same moment. They had stared at each other, horrified, then abruptly jerked their hands back and turned away. Diego, when she had confessed it all to him, had snorted, claiming the potion hadn't actually worked except by the power of suggestion, whatever that was; they had fooled themselves. She wasn't so sure – it certainly had _felt_ real at the time. And she had caught de Soto glancing at her at times ever since, with an expression that made her skin crawl.

She had been certain the whole thing would have turned Zorro against her, too, but when he saw her a few days later, he had only laughed. And when he brought her another bouquet of flowers a few days after that, she knew he had forgiven her.

But still, he never asked for a picnic, an hour alone – let alone her hand; never even tried to kiss her.

Victoria sighed, then grimaced ruefully as the image of Felipe saluting her that morning flashed into her mind. _Perhaps she was merely waiting for him to grow up?_ She certainly saw more of him than even of Diego, as he came into the pueblo several times a week to help her out for a little while in the cantina. And she'd seen that look at times in _his_ eyes, too; wondering sometimes if she was imagining it from all three of them. Even though she was eight years older, well, marriages with far more drastic age differences had been successful.

She knew very well there was a whole lot more going on behind those expressive brown eyes than most people had any idea of. She'd seen him figure complicated things out all on his own – he'd basically taught himself to read lips, for a start. Her heart ached for how most people treated the boy, as if he weren't even there. The only person aside from herself and the de la Vegas who didn't was the big, genial Sergeant Mendoza. The fact that he treated _everyone_ with the same easy friendliness added to, rather than detracted from, the effect. Mendoza had never learned more than a couple of hand signals, but he made sure Felipe could read his lips, and tried hard – usually successfully – to understand what the boy was telling him in return. They were simply friends.

And – although currently in the thick of awkward teenaged gangliness now, judging from how he had grown in the last few years, the muscles he had developed chopping wood and other chores, the unruly shock of hair falling into his eyes, Felipe was _definitely_ going to be a _fine_ specimen by the time he was twenty. Her thoughts shocked even herself at that point, and she firmly directed them elsewhere.

_What was she thinking?_ She faced it squarely. Felipe would only ever be second-best in her heart, and he would know it. He was no fool. He deserved to be first in his wife's heart, and vice versa. She straightened her back, vowing – not for the first time! – to be vigilant in never leading the boy on. She would not break his heart, or encourage his puppy love – if that's what was shining in his eyes. _For one thing,_ she thought, _I have got to stop thinking of him, and treating him, as a boy. He's fifteen, a young man, and deserves respect accordingly._

And here she was again, back to her starting point. Diego or Zorro? Zorro or Diego? Would either of them _ever_ make a declaration, let alone make her dreams come true?

With a sigh, she tossed her hair back over her shoulders, shaking her thoughts out of her head with the motion. She flicked the reins over the mare's back, took a deep breath, and looked around at the lovely scenery, while forcing herself to begin mentally reviewing the list of things she needed to look for at the port.

Just then, movement caught the corner of her eye, as two men on horseback burst out of the brush a hundred yards to her left and galloped after her, yelling – she didn't bother hearing what.

_Bandits!_ screamed through her brain. _They're after the mortgage money!_ "Hyah! HYAH!" she shouted at the mare, lashing her rump sharply with the reins. Even as the horse laid back her ears and burst into a gallop, Victoria knew it was futile: a horse pulling a wagon could never hope to outrun one that wasn't, regardless of the weight on the latter's back. Especially as the former had to keep to a rutted, rocky, twisted road. _Why oh why have I never learned to ride in a saddle? I could certainly outrun any bandit then!_ But that was a futile thought just then.

Nevertheless, she gave it her best, continuing to urge the mare into her fastest pace, crouching low on the wagon's seat as it bounced around, wishing, not for the first time, there was some way to secure her rear end to that seat! Even as she thought it, the front left wheel hit a rock the size of her two fists and bounced the wagon – and herself – into the air. As she fell back onto the wooden seat, the right front wheel hit its own rock, jerking the wagon violently the other way. Victoria shrieked as she felt herself fall sideways, clutching the reins for dear life, too fast to even throw out an arm to catch herself.

She felt her head hit the wrought iron arm rest with a resounding _Crack!_, felt the pain and shock of it start, then suddenly... nothing.


	5. Chapter 5

_**Chapter Five**_

Someone was gently wiping her forehead with a soft cloth that smelled of perfume, as a low voice softly called her name. Rolling her head slightly to the side, she winced and moaned as an ice blade of pain stabbed behind her eyes, and involuntarily lifted a hand to her head.

"Careful!" the low voice said. "You've got a nasty bump there." A gloved hand caught hers briefly and warded it off the bump.

Victoria was half sitting, half slumped sideways, on a surface that felt – and smelled – suspiciously like stacked bales of hay. She tried to open her eyes, blinking – but the light was so dim wherever she was that at first she could make nothing out. A vague, shadowy form loomed before her; the owner of the voice and hand. Then it eased back away from her as she blinked, and his face slowly came into focus.

His _masked_ face.

Zorro!

She gasped his name. Then, struggling to sit upright, "What happened? Where am I?"

"What do you remember?" Zorro asked gently, rather than answer directly. He gingerly took her upper arms and helped her to sit up, then lean back against – yes, they were hay bales, stacked to create a wide "chair" complete with back and arms.

She struggled a moment, then it came to her, dimly. "I was driving my wagon to the port, and... there were bandits chasing me!" The bump on her head seemed to be keeping her thoughts fuzzy.

He smiled. "That's right. I happened to be riding nearby and saw it happening. I managed to chase them away, and caught the wagon. You had fallen and hit your head – you've been unconscious for nearly an hour." Suddenly, he looked uncertain, then shrugged, grimacing. "I needed to take you some place safe to recover, and this was the only such place I could think of nearby."

Now she looked around again, seeing further in the dim light streaming from tiny holes up above. What she saw – rock walls and ceiling, bits of furniture and half-height wooden wall to her right – made no sense. "But where are we?"

Zorro's smile stretched sideways, ironic. "Well, not to put to fine a point on it, but we're at my place."

She gaped at him. "You live here? This is.. a cave!" she finally pegged it.

"No-o," he corrected, "I _live_ in a house. This is where I keep my things. Zorro's things. Where I change into Zorro."

"Oh!" she blinked. Movement to her right caught her eye, and she jumped a bit when a black horse's head poked over that wooden half wall, then she breathed a rueful recognition. "Ah. Toronado!"

The headache stabbed again as she tried to reach a hand to touch the horse's muzzle, and she gingerly felt that side of her head. Yes, she had a large bump. "Ow."

Zorro hitched closer again. "Forgive me," he said softly, "but I need to make sure you didn't bruise your brain." He was peering closely into her eyes, but clinically, ignoring her blush. "Pupils seem all right." He held up a finger between the two of them, telling her to follow it with only her eyes, not moving her head. Amused, she humored him and did so, and he rewarded her with a tight smile. "Good. Now, can you smile at me?"

"Oh! What?" But her confused, involuntary smile satisfied him anyway. Then he asked her to raise both hands and wave them about, and she did, now laughing outright.

He joined her laughter then, patting her hands back down. "All right. Everything's fine, no damage. But listen, please," he sobered. "You need to to _rest_ for a few days, take it as easy as you can. And if you notice anything at all strange – headaches, dizziness, blurred vision, or if you suddenly can't move one side of your mouth, or body, or if you start slurring words – _please_, get to the doctor immediately. It could be a stroke. All right?"

"Yes, all right!" she answered perkily, still humoring him – although she knew he was right. His nearness, his touching her, was making her giddy, adding to the confusion from the bump. She took a deep breath, drowning in his eyes as they glowed through his mask.

He was still going. "Is there someone you can get to help you in the cantina for a few days? Or could you close it down?"

She began to answer, when suddenly she heard a noise from the left, across the cavern – it almost sounded like footsteps. She started to turn that way – when suddenly Zorro lunged forward, took her face with both hands, and began passionately kissing her!

She inhaled sharply – it would have been a gasp if her mouth had been free – then her eyes closed involuntarily as she froze for a moment, unbelieving, feeling the electric shock that went zinging from her lips to her fingertips. Then leaned into it, returning his kiss, hesitantly at first, then with increasing fire. She felt one hand leave her cheek, then moments later it was at her back, pulling her nearer. Not daring to fling her arms around his neck like she wanted, she settled for placing her hands on his chest, distantly feeling it rise and fall from his breath.

Then, just as abruptly as he had started, he broke the kiss and backed off, dropping both hands. "I'm sorry! I should never have done that! I have _no_ right to do that! Please forgive me!" he nearly babbled. He shook his head, his eyes darting anywhere but at her face, and softly swore.

"But why? Zorro?" she added when he didn't answer immediately.

"Because we cannot be together. Not with that price on my head. I won't – I _will not_ endanger you that way. No matter how much I want to be with you - always."

She would never be able to express how much that last sentence, and how desperately he said it, fired her heart. Still, she pushed, wanting – needing – confirmation. "But you _do_ want it?"

His eyes bored into hers. "Can you doubt it? _Do_ you doubt it?"

"I don't know what to think."

"I wish..." But he couldn't finish, breaking off and sitting back on his heels again as he stared to one side.

"I'll wait," she promised. That brought his eyes back to hers, but the suddenly they were full of pain.

"But for how long?"

"As long as I must." She knew it was true. Now that she knew – really _knew_ – how he felt, she could never think of another. Not that way. Not even her best friend.

He stared a moment longer, then shook his head and sighed. "I can't make you _any_ promises." Then a thought struck him. "But I would like to give you something – even though I shouldn't. A token, nothing more." Rising, he walked across the cavern to a small table she hadn't noticed before, opened the tiny drawer, and poked around inside. He pulled out a little box, opened it, took out whatever was inside, and put the box back.

Kneeling once more before Victoria, Zorro held out his hand. Between thumb and finger was a silver ring, with an oval sapphire nestled in a loop. She gasped. Before she could take it, he said hoarsely, "This is a promise only. But a promise... that you have my heart. And always will. That's as much as I dare promise for now. Until things change, and I can take off this mask. And who knows..."

"How long that will be?" she finished for him. Finally reaching for the precious thing, she nodded as she gently plucked it from his fingers. "I accept it anyway." She tried to say what was in her heart, but floundered, only able to repeat his chosen moniker in a whisper, wishing she knew what his name _really_ was.

Glancing down again in embarrassment, he added, "I need to ask you not to wear that in public, though, It might be recognized." He took a breath, then added, "It was my mother's. She died a long time ago."

"It's beautiful," she whispered. Then had an idea. "And I promise, I'll never wear it in public. But I won't part with it, not by the tiniest distance." Reaching up behind her neck, she quickly undid the clasp of the long silver chain holding her tiny silver cross, slipped on the ring, and reclasped it, then slipped ring and cross down the front of her blouse. The chain was long enough that it held both items securely out of sight, between her breasts. Glancing up again, she paused momentarily at the sight of his eyes, looking like he wanted to dive in after it – but then he raised them again to hers and the moment passed.

A heartbeat, two... but he didn't try to kiss her again. Instead, he told her apologetically, "You need to rest a while, and there is something I need to do. I'll be back as soon as I can. You'll be safe here, and undisturbed. Lay down..." He was gently pushing her onto her unwounded side on the hay. She didn't resist, suddenly sleepy beyond belief, but brought her feet off the floor and curled up on her side, resting her head on one bent arm. He picked up a blanket nearby and draped it over her.

A gloved hand was stroking her hair as her eyes sank closed. "Rest, Victoria. Rest..."

* * *

"Victoria..." Zorro's voice was once more calling, waking her up. This time, however, as her eyes opened, she knew she was _awake_. She felt amazingly rested and better – the confusion from the blow to her head was gone.

"How long was I asleep?"

"Several hours. It's late in the afternoon. I'm sorry, I was delayed. Do you feel better?" He was smiling at her from before her hay bale couch.

"_Much_ better, thank you!"

"Good."

Suddenly she gasped, remembering the day. "Late afternoon! Oh, no! The mortgage payment! I'll _never_ make it!" Oh, this was terrible! She couldn't be late – she'd lose the cantina! Those human sharks would foreclose at any excuse!

But Zorro was smiling, holding up one hand to stop her panic. He reached into a pocket with the other, and brought out a suspiciously familiar key, handing it to her. It was the key to the strongbox on her wagon.

"Don't worry. I took the money to the agents and paid them for you. That's what took me so long." He paused. "You won't lose the cantina. Everything is fine."

She gaped at him, holding the key. "You paid it?"

"Mm-hm!" he murmured, nodding with his eyebrows flared amusedly. Then he added, "I'm sorry, I didn't know what you needed, so I didn't pick up any supplies."

She spluttered. "That's fine. Don't worry about that." She gasped again as she shook her head. "I don't know how to thank you." Well, she could think of _one_ way, but didn't quite have the courage to just kiss him out of the blue as he had done earlier.

He smiled and shook his head. "My pleasure, Señorita." Then he took a deep breath. "I'm sorry, but... we need to go. I need to get you back to your wagon so you can get back home. And..." He paused again, blowing out a breath in trepidation. "But I need to keep this location a secret..."

Suddenly she understood. "So you will blindfold me when we leave." She shook her head back at him, smiling. "That's all right, of course I understand. I'm ready."

He gave her a grateful smile, then asked hesitantly if she needed to use the chamber pot in the corner first. Laughing, she admitted she did, and he stepped around the corner and into what looked like a tunnel while she did. Then he led her to the little table, where, surprised, she found a half a bottle of wine and two glasses, along with a small bit of bread and cheese on a plate. There was nowhere else to sit, so they took the items back to the hay bales, Zorro hooking a stool she hadn't noticed before and pulling it over to sit on it.

She poured the wine into the two glasses and handed one to Zorro. "Our first meal together!"

He laughed and agreed, and clinked his glass against hers with a "Cheers!" But just before he took a sip, he paused a moment, grimacing slightly as some thought struck him.

"What was that?" she asked, curious.

He tried for innocent. "Nothing!" and took another sip, then reached for the bread and broke it in two.

Her eyes narrowed. Now she was suspicious. "What?" Her voice was a little bit harder.

He was caught. He took a breath, let it out, took another. "If I tell you, you'll probably slap me," he admitted sheepishly.

Now she was _really_ suspicious. _"What?"_ she repeated yet again, flatter and harsher still, crossing her arms over her chest.

His mouth quirked in amusement. Finally, he said in a small voice, "There's no love potion in the wine, I promise." Then he scrunched up his face and ducked away, bracing for the slap.

Victoria's mouth dropped open, scandalized and supremely embarrassed at the reminder. Then she closed it with a snap, looking sideways with a gasp – but trying not to laugh. When she could manage it, she looked back at him, still hunched away. "Consider yourself slapped, Señor," she said with as much wounded dignity as she could manage.

One of his eyes opened to peer at her, then the other. "Si, Señorita," he replied in a tiny voice. Slowly sitting up straight, he rubbed his cheek with one hand, as if slapped. "Thank you."

Another beat, and both of them spluttered and cracked up, and the moment passed.

* * *

Picking Victoria up by the waist, Zorro easily swung her up to perch sideways on the front of Toronado's saddle, straddling the horn uncomfortably, then he swung up behind her. First he pulled out a black silk handkerchief and tied it around her eyes for a blindfold, then pulled her close, keeping both arms around her as she laid her head on his shoulder with a sigh. How often had she dreamed of being in _this_ position?

She had no idea how long they rode, wasn't keeping track. But some time later, he reined the horse to a stop. "Victoria, we're here." As she sat up straight again, he untied the knot and pulled off the blindfold. They were standing in a clearing in a forest, next to her wagon, the patient mare still hitched between the traces, happily munching on the long grass.

He swung down from the horse and lifted her down, stealing a swift kiss as he did so, for which she instantly forgave him. Then, nothing more to say, they walked the few steps to the wagon, and he handed her up. She looked around then, not recognizing the location. "Um..."

He smiled and pointed forward. "The road's right over there, and the pueblo is to the left, about three miles. Not far. I'll follow you a ways back, until you're inside the pueblo, to make sure you make it safely." His eyes were shadowed again under his broad-brimmed hat in the afternoon shadows; all she could see was that he was looking up at her. "Victoria..." he whispered hoarsely.

She nodded. "I know." Taking a sudden deep breath, she made herself look away and flicked the reins.


	6. Chapter 6

_**Chapter Six**_

It was nearing sunset as Victoria pulled up behind the cantina again. Felipe startled her by walking quietly out from the shadowy patio, halting the mare by grabbing the near rein. Then he stepped back beside the wagon to give her a helping hand down.

"Felipe! My goodness..." she faltered. "You weren't waiting here all afternoon, were you?" Normally, she would have been back hours ago. "I – I was delayed."

Felipe shrugged, shaking his head. He wouldn't quite look her in the eyes, though. Flustered from her own long, emotionally-jarring day, she barely noticed. Then he turned, and swept a hand towards the cantina's back wall.

Which was now nearly filled with stacked firewood, ready for her wood stove. The short rounds, waiting for chopping, that were delivered weekly and stacked to one side were now all processed.

She gaped. There was easily three times as much as had been there that morning. "Felipe! Did you do all that by yourself? Today?"

He shrugged self-deprecatingly again, then glanced in the back of the wagon. It was empty.

"I couldn't get supplies..." She faltered, then rushed past it. "I'll be all right till next week."

Felipe raised his eyebrows, making a pattycake motion with his hands.

"Yes. Corn flour for tortillas. I _will_ need more of that..." She looked away, wondering how to accomplish that, but he stopped her again, making signs that _he_ would get some the next day. She tried to protest, to thank him, but he waved it off, smiling slightly, and turned to unhitch the mare.

Now she was really flustered, thinking back on her promises that morning to keep him at a distance. Reaching in under the seat, she unlocked the strongbox, pausing a moment at the paper on top – the receipt for the mortgage payment. Then she pulled it out, along with the remainder of the cash – and the answer hit her. Smiling to herself, she counted out the cost of two large bags of corn flour... and added five pesos, putting the rest in her pocket.

Stepping up behind the boy – _young man,_ she corrected her thoughts, she automatically called his name, then shook her head at herself, reaching to tap his shoulder. But then she paused, just for a second... _he_ had paused his motions for a moment, then immediately went back to work. Her brows furrowed, puzzled, but then shook it off. There could be any number of reasons.

At the tap on his shoulder, he turned to look at her. Victoria held out the first coins, saying and signing they were for the flour, and dropped them into his open palm. Then she held out the pesos. "And these are for you, for the firewood – and all the other work you've done." He shook his head furiously, trying to refuse, but she stopped _him_ this time. "Felipe... you do so much for me, all the time. It is _long_ past time I starting paying you what you're worth." Not brooking refusal, she grabbed his wrist and pressed the coins into his hand with the others.

Felipe stood and stared down at them for a long moment, then raised his eyes back to hers, a wide, happy grin slowly stretching his mouth. They may have been the first coins of his own he had ever earned, she realized. He started to put them in a pants pocket, but she said quickly, "Careful! Don't lose them!", afraid they might fall out. So, grimacing at her caution, he pulled out a clean handkerchief and tied it around all the coins, then stuffed the package in the pocket instead. She nodded back approval, then turned for the back door, leaving him to finish unhitching the horse and lead it home.

It wasn't until much later that she realized he had never asked her what had happened or where she had been all day, let alone if she was all right.

* * *

The next day, as Victoria stepped into the kitchen to begin preparing lunch, a knock came at the open back door. It was Felipe, a huge bag of corn flour balanced on his shoulder. Thanking him profusely, she showed him where to put it – and then he went back out and brought in another. Then he pulled out a new leather money pouch he had gotten from somewhere, carefully counted out some small coins, and handed them to her: the change from the purchase. She insisted on handing one back to pay him. He looked down at it in his hand for a moment with a satisfied gleam, then saluted her and turned to go into the main room.

When she came back out a minute later, he was standing straight on the far side of the bar, his head high. She raised her eyebrows at him quizzically, and he grandly put the coin on the bar, then pointed to the beer barrels. She pealed laughter, then pulled him a glass of his favorite lighter brew and set it before him on the bar. She picked up the coin, but told him distinctly, "Just this once!", and he nodded appreciatively. She went to put it in the coin box, but then thought better of it, and pulling over the little footstool, put Felipe's coin up on the top shelf with the two others – the first ever taken in by her father when he had opened the cantina – laying as an offering before the statue of the Virgin Mary. His beaming smile when she turned back was all the reward she could ask for.

Felipe stood at the bar and slowly drank his beer, proudly, his first time as a paying customer, watching her out of the corner of his eye as she served other customers and rinsed glasses. Halfway through, she saw Sergeant Mendoza walk in, spy the boy, and come up behind him. He called his name and then a moment later was beside him with an arm around his shoulders, and Felipe startled slightly, then turned and grinned at his friend. "Another one for me, Señorita," Mendoza told Victoria, pointing to the glass of beer, "and two lunches. You'll have lunch with me?" he asked Felipe, who nodded cheerfully, and the two friends went to a table.

As she stepped into the kitchen for their food, Victoria suddenly stopped cold, staring blankly at the wall above the stove, stuck in place. _Something had just happened – something important. What was it?_ She replayed the scene just past in her mind, and suddenly there it was. Felipe had swallowed quickly just as Mendoza called his name, and stopped drinking, although he had kept the glass to his lips until the hand landed on his shoulder. _He had heard his name. I'm sure of it. And he did yesterday, too._

She flashed back then to another puzzling scene she'd witnessed a few weeks before. Coming into the kitchen, as usual, she'd smiled at the open back door as the sounds of Felipe energetically chopping firewood had drifted in. She'd stepped over and glanced out – and then jerked back quickly so he didn't see her. Strike "energetically". More like "furiously". Carefully peeking out around the door frame so he wouldn't see her, she'd stared at the slice of his face she could see from over his shoulder: it was darkly angry, and he was attacking the wood as though trying to _kill_ something – or somebody.

He went on like that for another minute, splitting hunks of wood with the big axe as fast as he could move them onto the stump, with hard wide vicious swings of the axe; until suddenly he'd stopped, chest heaving, and stood for a minute, slightly dancing from foot to foot, eyes closed, trying to regain control she wasn't sure he'd lost. Then he stared at the wall before him for a full minute, feet now still, straining at something. Then he'd collapsed out of that stance, too, with a heartwrenching gasp. Letting go of the axe with his right hand, he'd brought it up as though clawing at his own throat, like he wanted to rip it out with his fingernails, then dropped that, too, chest heaving once more. Another minute, and he looked down, stooped slowly to set up the next chunk of wood, checked his stance and his grip on the axe, and went back to chopping it into firewood size – at a normal pace and with a normal, blank expression, now. Victoria drew silently back into the kitchen, wondering what she had just seen.

_He was trying to speak,_ she realized now. _He was trying to force his mouth and throat to make the right sounds. But how would he know what those sounds should be like... unless he could hear them from others?_

He could hear. She was certain of it. At least a little bit, maybe only sometimes. But he was trying, desperately, to regain both hearing and speech – and apparently, so far, failing. She flashed back again, to Diego's theory about Felipe when he had first brought him home, that the little boy had somehow stoppered his own ears and mouth, and even memories, after the horrific, bloody massacre he had witnessed. Now, it appeared, Diego had been right.

But equally obviously, Felipe was keeping it a secret from everybody. _Or else,_ she realized, _everybody would be __constantly__ pressuring him to perform, to do what so far he can't._ Well, nobody would learn it from her. It was _his_ secret to keep, or tell whom he would. She wouldn't pry, nor spill it to another. Not even the de la Vegas.

Ladling beans onto plates, however, she couldn't help but stop a moment and close her eyes, sending a silent prayer skyward. _Santa Maria, please help him. Let him regain speech and hearing. He deserves it._

She loaded up her arms with hot plates, and took them into the main room.


	7. Chapter 7

_**Chapter Seven**_

The next few months were tough on all of them, for different reasons. Victoria only caught brief glimpses of Zorro, as he only came into the pueblo twice – and had to escape to the countryside immediately, no time to see her. She did hear of a few other exploits of his at a distance, but it seemed Alcalde de Soto was too involved with the ranch he had seized when the previous owner died without heirs to cause too much trouble for the peasantry under Zorro's protection. Victoria had to laugh at herself for her very mixed feelings about _that!_

Not long after her clandestine meeting with Zorro, the two de la Vegas had a torturous run-in with a tax collector from Old Spain named Resendo, who apparently held some sort of secret vendetta against them, especially the elder Don Alejandro. The man ended up dying after some final confrontation with the two at the ranch, which neither of them would explain fully, not even to Victoria. Immediately after that, however, Diego surprised everyone by announcing that he planned to adopt Felipe formally into the family. Victoria discovered later that Don Alejandro had overridden his son, saying _he_ would do the adopting. Diego had acquiesced (to no one's surprise), and Felipe didn't seem to care; he was walking on clouds.

Partly in an effort to draw him out, Victoria then asked Diego to help her plan her renovations to the cantina, and he spent three days asking her questions, pacing out measurements and setting stakes to mark corners as the old building was torn down by workmen she hired, and drawing up a set of professional plans for the new patio and hotel rooms.

The second day, she found him sitting at "Don Alejandro's" table, papers strewn across the surface, but he was leaning back against the stairs and staring blindly ahead with such an anguished expression that she caught her breath. She pulled out the chair across the corner from him and sat, then laid a hand on his forearm.

"Diego?" she asked softly. "What is it?" He startled out of whatever reverie he was in and glanced at her, then started to brush it off, but she clutched his arm harder and wouldn't let him. "Please tell me. _Talk_ to me, like you used to. Please." A beat, then she guessed gently, "Is it Resendo?" He glanced sideways at her, caught, and then finally nodded. "Please tell me," she repeated.

Reaching for his glass of wine, Diego took a long slow sip, while she patiently waited. Then, not looking at her, he said in a rough, low voice, "We didn't know... until the end..." Then finally he looked back into her lovely face and laid it bare. "He was my brother."

"_What?"_ Victoria gasped, then floundered "H.. how?"

"You knew my mother died giving birth to me?" he asked, and she nodded. "What Father never knew... is that she had given birth to _two_ baby boys." He glanced away and licked his lips. "You met the old lady who was here – his mother, Señora Resendo?" She nodded, speechless. "She wasn't his mother. She was _my_ mother's midwife. And she left the birth chamber abruptly, taking _him_ – my twin brother – with her." Now the floodgates were opened, and the words came in a rush. "Father didn't realize it for a while, but if she hadn't left, Mother might have survived." Diego stopped for a moment, horror renewed washing over him. "But she raised him as her own, and filled him with _so_ many lies, _so_ much venom and hate... He believed Father had rejected him over some small birth defect, when actually, Father never even knew of his existence. Never once saw him. But Resendo – "

"But _why?"_ Victoria couldn't help interjecting. "Why would she do all that?"

"Apparently, _she_ had had designs on Father herself, but he married Mother instead. 'A woman scorned'..." He quoted, then shrugged. "I don't know. But Resendo grew up believing everything she told him – well, why wouldn't he? There was no one to tell him differently. So finally, he tracked Father here. And came himself, for vengeance, for those wrongs... that never were. He intended to ruin Father... and then _kill_ him. _And_ me. He was going to kill me first, to hurt Father, and then kill him." Abruptly reaching the end of the story, Diego shook his head with a little gasp.

Victoria sat gaping, trying to absorb all that. "What happened? At the end?"

"He was coming after both of us, with a sword. I had no choice. He would have murdered both of us, in cold blood."

_Diego had killed Resendo,_ she finally realized. Up to that moment, she'd never even considered the possibility. Shaking her head, she filed it away to think about later. Before she could speak, however, he continued.

"Victoria..." he said, his face and voice wretched. "I'm a fratricide. I _killed_... my _brother..._"

Here was something she could grapple with. "Diego, it was _self-defense. _And defense of your _Father._ You can't... blame yourself."

"I know," he said immediately, then clarified. "My _head_ knows. But my heart..." He heaved a heavy sigh as he shook his head again. "I keep thinking... this should never have been. I had a _brother._ A _twin_ brother. We should have grown up together. Should have... looked out for each other. But instead..." He had been staring around the room with unseeing eyes. Finally he brought his eyes back to hers again, returning to the previous point. "I think it's going to be a very, _very_ long time, before my heart starts listening to my head."

She had never removed her hand from his arm; now she gave it a slow squeeze. "Diego... I am so, _so_ sorry." Completely inadequate, but what else could she say? "How is Tio Alejo handling it?"

He shrugged. "About as well as I am, I think. We can't seem to talk about it. He has his guilt, and I have mine. We move forward, in fits and starts, but then I catch him staring into the distance, holding my Mother's picture..." He shook his head.

"Is that why you decided to adopt Felipe?" she guessed.

He made a so-so nod. "Partly. Partly to give us something to focus on, yes, and to make our family bigger. Not that he would, or could, _ever... replace_ Gilberto." That was the first time he'd said his brother's first name. Another head shake, moving on. "But also... it's _long_ past due. I should have done it a _very_ long time ago." This was accompanied by a tiny, wry smile.

She returned the smile, squeezing his arm again. "I'm certain it's the right thing to do. He's been _so_ proud and happy. And I think it will help all of you, in the long run."

He nodded back, then glanced down at the papers. "Yeah..." Then he looked back once more, earnestly. "Thank you," he said simply, at last placing his own hand over hers on his arm. "For listening to me," he clarified.

This netted him a chiding. "Diego... I will _always_ listen to you. _Always_ be here for you. You are _still_ my best friend. And _always_ will be."

"I hope so. I hope that... no matter _what_ happens... that you will _always_ consider me your friend."

"Why wouldn't I?"

But at that, he only shrugged, and picking up his pencil, asked if they could get back to work, to which she of course acquiesced. The moment was over. Later, however, when she looked back, she realized that even though he had opened up to her on this one thing, there was just as much distance between them now as there had been the last four years. She couldn't help the bitter tears that wet her pillow, for her lost best friend. There didn't seem to be any way to help him past this tragedy, or get him back.

* * *

When the mortgage was at last paid off, she threw a party, then hired a foreman to begin construction on the new building. But to her surprise, one of the handful of men who showed up the next morning hoping to be hired onto the work crew was Felipe. He was even carrying a flat box of tools that might be helpful. When the foreman, Jose Perez, saw him, however, he just laughed; a short, derisive bark.

"Go home, boy!" he nearly shouted, much too loudly. "I've no time for babysitting."

_I can work,_ Felipe signed defensively, holding his head proudly high, but of course Perez couldn't read them. Victoria tried to assist, extolling the young man's hard work and that he _could_ communicate, Perez turned on her. "And are you going to stay beside him all day and translate? I didn't think so," he answered for her before she could even draw breath. He swept an arm out as if brushing them both aside. "Now go on, both of you, we _men_ have work to do." And he turned away towards the work site.

Felipe sagged dejectedly, hung his head now Perez's back was turned, and started towards his horse.

"Felipe!" she called automatically, but he didn't even pause, so she ran after him and grabbed his arm, _making_ him turn back to face her. She ducked briefly to catch his eyes so he could and would read her lips, and using what few signs she knew, asked him to please stay. "I have _lots_ of things for you to do. And come tomorrow morning, and keep coming. I'll keep you busy. He will _see _what a hard worker you are – you will _show_ him. He'll change his mind." She grinned conspiratorially. "We'll _make_ him change his mind. You'll see."

It took another few seconds, but finally he nodded, and then signed, _thank you._

"You're welcome. Can you get started on that wood pile please?"

Felipe nodded again, resigned, and she swiveled to go back into the kitchen, but suddenly he caught _her_ arm in return. When she turned back, puzzled, he tapped his temple. _I have an idea._

"What is it?"

He pointed to the little wooden shed at the end of the patio, and made a rainy motion with both hands, his eyebrows making it a question.

"Yes, it does need to come down. I had hoped to leave it, but with Diego's new plans..." He tapped his chest. "You want to take it down?" _Come on,_ his eyes said, and he made the sign for money, and she understood. "You want me to _hire_ you to take it down." Smiling, Felipe crossed his arms, managing to convey _Well, you promised to pay me for work!_

So she laughed, and made a point of considering. "All right," she agreed, "I'll pay you five pesos."

_Five!_ His outrage wasn't feigned. _Ten!_ he signed back.

She had to snort for his willingness to haggle. "How long will it take you?"

He looked again at the shed. It wasn't that big. _Three days._

"And you'll take away all the refuse?"

_Everything they_ pointing to the workmen _don't reuse._

That caught her up. "Well who knows what that might be. We'll make a separate deal for removing trash once all the building is done," she said, and he nodded agreement. Another considering look at the shed, and she decided. "Nine pesos, three per day – _and _lunch. And you'll stack all the materials neatly so they can be reused."

Felipe's turn to make a show of considering, scrunching up his face, then he nodded decisively, and held out his hand. She took it and they shook with gusto. "Then get to work!" was her parting shot, and he tossed her his jaunty salute, picked up his toolbox, and headed towards his new jobsite.

* * *

The next day she caught Diego advising Felipe on the best way to bring down the frame and laughed out loud, calling out from the patio, "I'm not paying your assistant! _You'll_ have to pay him!"

Diego looked over his shoulder and laughed back, then tapped Felipe's shoulder. When the younger man looked back, puzzled, Diego hooked a thumb towards Victoria and repeated what she'd said in words and signs. First Felipe gave her an outraged, jaw-dropped expression, then swiftly turned it into a sick simper. Digging into a pocket, he fished out a single copper centavo and slapped it into Diego's palm, then went back to work with a satisfied smirk, leaving both of the others spluttering in laughter.

"Is that how much you're worth?" she teased.

"Apparently!" was Diego's not-angry reply.

* * *

Felipe finished slightly ahead of schedule, piling the last stack of wood neatly beside the unbroken tiles from the roof in the middle of the third afternoon, as Gato supervised from a nearby perch. Victoria came out to see, checking out of the corner of her eye that they had the attention of Perez, who had been shooting Felipe sour glances for three days whenever he caught sight of him. Looking around, she saw nothing to disapprove, and made a show of counting out the nine pesos into Felipe's hand.

"What are you going to do with all that money?" she asked.

Felipe shot her a sour look, and answered by briefly pulling out the collar of his peasant-style tunic with finger and thumb and letting it go.

"New clothes?" she grinned, then dropped her voice slightly. "Something fit for a don?"

He hesitated, then shrugged. _Maybe later,_ he signed. She was puzzled, but let it go.

Felipe went back to work for Victoria after that, but also spent a fair amount of time keeping an eye on the workmen. Two days of that and Perez had had enough. Glancing up to see the young man watching closely from a few yards away as he mortared adobe bricks into the new hotel wall, he stood up, one hand on his hip and a sour expression on his face, then waved Felipe over. "All right, boy, let's see what you can do."

Felipe needed no more invitation. Perez handed him his trowel and stood back, watching closely as Felipe picked up the next brick, slathered it with just the right amount of mortar (he _had_ been watching) on one side and one end, and laid it in place, quickly checking both sides with the flat stick and tapping it lightly into place with the trowel until it was perfectly aligned. Then he looked up at Perez.

"Faster," he grunted, then guessed at a quick rolling motion with his hands. Felipe picked up the next brick and did so, slathering and placing as quickly as he could without making mistakes. Then he just kept going, not looking back up. A few bricks later, Perez simply grunted again and went looking for another trowel, then started the next run above Felipe's from the same corner. He still worked faster, catching up to the new bricklayer before he had reached the next corner, but he simply tapped him on the shoulder and switched places. The other two men, glancing and grinning, didn't seem fussed by the new addition. By the end of the day, they were even joking with Felipe.

If Perez expected Felipe to quit from exhaustion, he was disappointed. He showed up every morning, without fail, and worked as hard as anyone all day. Victoria knew he'd won his place the second morning, as Perez was teaching him how to build and place the frames for the doors and windows. Two floors of new rooms were built, six over six, balcony overlooking the patio and all, and drying in the sun in record time.

She was proud of the little boy she had partly fostered, watching him take the first steps out of Diego's shadow and into the world of men. It was almost enough to help ease the lonely ache in her heart at Zorro's continued absence.


	8. Chapter 8

_**Chapter Eight**_

After the roof had been put on the new hotel block, extended toward the patio to cover the balcony running before the rooms on the second floor, Victoria rehired the same crew – plus Felipe – for some small additions: a high adobe wall at either end of the patio to enclose it, a lean-to outside the kitchen for storage, and a row of basic stables for travelers' horses leaning against the back of the hotel block. Doors, windows, and rough basic furniture, including beds and dressers for the rooms, and tables and benches for the patio, were to be built by a pair of local carpenters, but they had to wait until the construction was finished, and she had the money for them. _One step at a time,_ she told herself over and over. The last building she had purchased with the mortgage loan; a long, low collection of attached decrepit row houses a couple of streets behind the new hotel block, she had transformed earlier into a series of small warehouses by knocking down all the small interior walls. Keeping one big one for herself, she was already renting out the other warehouses for more, albeit limited, income. A few years before, Victoria would _never_ have even considered such expansion, but the slowly growing population of the pueblo had likewise increased both her cantina's patronage and the possibilities.

While those extras were being worked on, Felipe had a surprise for Victoria. Pulling Diego in one day to help explain and draw, he gave her a wonderful idea for a roof over the enlarged patio, which she had wanted, but had not been able to make up her mind exactly how to go about it.

_A canopy, rather than solid wood. String ropes across from cantina roof to hotel roof,_ he signed and Diego translated, _about three feet apart. Then drape very long bolts of cloth lengthwise over the ropes, side by side but not sewn together. They won't stop the rain, but they will be shade, and as they flutter in the breeze_ – here Felipe made fluttering motions with his fingers, his eyes alight with vision – _they will look like ocean waves – or wind blowing over a big field of tall grass._

Victoria was agog. "Felipe, that's... that's absolutely _wonderful!"_ Her own eyes were almost unfocused, catching the vision from him. "An open canopy, of many colors, waving in the wind. Oh, it will be _beautiful!"_

He then added a way to attach the cloth strips to the ropes – with metal rings or sewn channels – and then practical Diego suggested the strips be tacked together anyway only where they crossed those ropes, "so they don't slide apart and create big gaps." Both of those additions would keep the cloth in place, hanging just so. When Felipe asked him, Diego quickly sketched out a pulley system so the canopy could be drawn back all together under the eaves of the hotel block during rain.

"I won't be able to get to it for quite a while – all the rest must be finished first – but I am _definitely_ going to do this!" Victoria thanked Felipe effusively for the idea, even tried to pay him for it, but that he staunchly refused. It was only an idea, after all.

"How did you come up with it, though?" Diego wanted to know. "What made you think of it?"

Felipe shrugged. _It just came to me, and then I worked out how to do it in my head. _

Victoria served them both lunch on the house, then took the new drawings and stored them carefully in her office with all Diego's other plans, and went to work, humming a happy tune.

The days and weeks marched slowly on, as her new additions were finished and polished, while the constant stream of patrons in the old cantina kept her running from morning to night, as always; the rancheros and farmers continued the long, slow work of raising beef and grain and vegetables, and bringing them to market; lancers drilled and rode patrols through the countryside; shopkeepers and craftsmen did their steady business, keeping the pueblo humming with life and low-grade industry. Everyone was too busy that summer to make much trouble for anyone else, it seemed.

And then the earthquake struck.

* * *

She was just setting a full plate before Diego – it seemed he had missed breakfast at home – and a rather less full one before Don Alejandro, when suddenly the world went mad. As if God himself had picked up her cantina and was shaking it in anger; the floor, walls, and everything in it were jolting and rattling back and forth. Diego recognized it first, yelling "_Earthquake! Everybody out!_" as he grabbed both his father and Victoria by their arms and staggered with them out the front door and past the porch into the plaza, the handful of other patrons lurching out behind. There they stood for several long minutes while successive waves of shaking swept visibly through the pueblo, clutching each other to stay on their feet. When he was certain it was over, Diego, with Don Alejandro following, went cautiously back inside to quickly inspect the building, reassuring Victoria when they came back out that it was sound and would not fall. Then they both ran for their horses and raced to their hacienda to check on the people and damage there.

Victoria was deeply affected by the earthquake, even though it turned out to have done very little damage in the local area: nobody was killed, and only some minor injuries. But she was rattled to her core. She'd lived through many kinds of upsets before, but for some reason she couldn't name, having the very earth beneath her feet seemingly rise up and attack her left her shaken and afraid. She closed the cantina for the day immediately after the earthquake, and didn't reopen it for two more days, unable to even enter the building without more than a twinge of nervous terror. She even slept in her new warehouse, spending the days in between helping repair damage to other parts of the pueblo, and providing simple food and water to the laborers. Beyond her nerves, she was feeling a bit bereft and unsupported: none of the de la Vegas had come in to town to help.

Two mornings later, she forced herself back inside the cantina and began cleaning it up, sweeping up smashed glass and mud. Just as she was dumping the last shards and muck into a large barrel for disposal, a shadow fell at her feet, and she looked quickly up and gasped. "Tio Alejo! I haven't seen you for two days. Is everything all right at the ranch?" No word of damage or injuries had come from the de la Vega ranch.

Don Alejandro looked a bit haggard, but he tried to smile reassuringly. "No damage done to the hacienda, querida, and no deaths or injuries. But..."

He faltered, glancing away, and she dropped the broom and dustpan to clutch at his arm. "But what?"

He took a deep breath and brought his eyes back to hers. "Felipe has disappeared," he said softly. "He was gone when we got back to the hacienda. It seems... he has run away again." His words reminded her of the previous time the boy had done just that, disappearing up into the hills for several weeks until Don Alejandro's men had found him, years before – shortly after he'd arrived in Los Angeles. He'd never really explained why, and after a time, it had been forgotten.

"But... _why?_ Why would he run away?"

Don Alejandro shrugged, pain oozing through the attempt at nonchalance. "We don't know. He left nothing, no message of any kind." He paused. "We know he ran after a horse that had gotten loose. We tracked him, Diego and I, to a spring down south, where he caught the horse. But then... he just kept going, rather than return home." Another shrug. "We don't know why," he repeated softly.

"Why didn't you continue following?"

The young man had too great a head start by that time – a full day, was the explanation. They would never have caught him. And he obviously didn't want to be found. "All we can do is wait for him to come home," the old man concluded. Victoria didn't press him, although she had a hard time agreeing; the pain in his beloved eyes was too bare.

But he wasn't done confessing. "Victoria... it's my fault. I'm certain of it. I'm the reason he left." Her bewilderment at that pronouncement showed on her face, but he went on without her asking. "I never put in the petition for adoption. I don't know why I left it, it was so important. But I didn't. And now... I am certain. It hurt him so badly, that he left. He didn't really feel a part of the family. I pushed him away, through neglect." The words, once unstoppered, had tumbled out, until he reached the awful conclusion.

Now _this_ she could _not_ believe, and told him so. "He's been working around here every day for weeks, and he's been _so_ happy the whole time. I cannot believe he felt so bad about the adoption that he would leave – especially without a word of explanation." She thought a moment. "It had to have had something to do with the earthquake itself, since that's when he left."

Don Alejandro nodded slowly. "Diego thinks that perhaps it cracked that wall in his mind, and brought back memories of the old tragedy. But why that would make him leave..." He shook his head helplessly.

"Perhaps he has gone to try to find his old family," she said thoughtfully. "He may not have been thinking clearly. I know _I_ haven't been... I have been so rattled these last two days, this is the first time I've been back inside the cantina." She shook her head again once to clear it of her own troubles, then put both her hands on his shoulders to look directly into his beloved face. "Tio Alejo... he _will_ be back. I am _certain _of it. This is his home, _you_ are his family, adoption or no. All we must do," she sighed, "is wait. We will find out."

He tried manfully to match her spirit. "Well, when he _does_ come home, it will be as a true de la Vega. I have written out the petition, and I am on my way to the port to send it off to the court in Mexico City. When he comes home," he repeated, then emphasized, "_when_, not _if_, he will find he is Don Felipe de la Vega."

Victoria smiled. "And he will be _so_ proud." She couldn't help but imagine the astonished, and yes, proud look on Felipe's face when he found _that_ out. But, "where _is_ Diego?" she wondered.

His father had sent him north with a work crew, to trace the earthquake and map the extent of its damage. "When he returns, you will join us for dinner?" he asked, very nearly formally. Of course she would. Then he had another request, a more personal and urgent one. "Would you like to go with me to the port today, and pick up supplies while we are there?" Ignoring his unstated plea for moral support, and just as happy to put off returning inside the cantina for a few more hours, Victoria cheerfully agreed.


	9. Chapter 9

_**Chapter Nine**_

A few days later, the expected message arrived via one of Don Alejandro's men: Diego had returned to the hacienda. Would she join them for dinner as promised? Of course she would.

On her arrival at the old, low-slung pink stucco villa, cleaned up and dressed in her best, Victoria was ushered by Don Alejandro himself into the formal sitting room. Diego was bathing, he said, and would join them shortly. No, he didn't have details yet, but Diego had said the damage was minimal, even further north towards the earthquake's point of origin. _That_ was a relief! "Not even Alacalde de Soto has sent for that information – or if he has, he hasn't shared it with the town," she sniffed. Not the first time that man had shirked his duty.

They chatted for a while, bringing each other up to date on the extent of damage to pueblo and ranch, and the status of repairs to both, until Diego himself entered the room, dressed in a clean crisp suit, his hair still wet from his bath. He was surprised to see Victoria; apparently his father hadn't warned him. She jumped up and rushed to him to take his hands, turning at once to the most important, heartbreaking turn of events. "Diego, Tio Alejo has told me of Felipe's disappearance. I am _so_ sorry. Is there anything I can do?"

Diego shrugged, although she could plainly see the pain in his eyes. Her old best friend had certainly taken many harsh blows this past year, she thought. _First Resendo, now this._ He gave some polite response – although he squeezed her hands gratefully – and inquired about her presence.

"I invited her out to have dinner with us," Don Alejandro put in, rising from his chair and coming towards the pair. They politely dropped hands and turned towards their elder, who went on, confusing Victoria. "Diego, you will have every reason to be angry at me for this, but I am stepping in. I will _not_ just sit here and watch you slowly rot. Enough." Leaning towards his son, he emphasized the next few words. "Tell. Her. The. Truth. … Now. Today." He gave Diego the politest, most meaningless smile imaginable. "Or I will. You have one hour. Excuse me." With that astonishing, mystifying pronouncement, he brushed in between the two of them and disappeared down the hall, a satisfied smirk creeping up his face.

Diego, his eyes wide in shock, had turned to watch his father go, and didn't turn back. Victoria waited a beat, then prompted, "Diego? What is it?" with a small laugh. It couldn't be _that_ dramatic, could it? A moment later, when he still didn't turn, she thought better of the levity. _Maybe it IS that dramatic. _"Is it something terrible?" she added gently, all laughter gone from her voice.

He gulped. "It depends on how you look at it," he managed to squeak out.

_Well. Perhaps I will finally find out what has been bothering him all this time._ She mentally checked that her expression showed her genuine care, folded her hands before her waist, and waited patiently.

With a skittering glance sideways, he took in all that, but then nervously fixed his gaze on the front door. "Forgive me, Señorita," he began – _since when do you call me that?_ she swallowed puzzlement – "but I am going to start on a wild tangent. It will make sense in a minute, I promise." He started describing how his grandfather, when he had built the hacienda, had allegedly put in a secret passage.

"I remember," she interrupted, smiling. "You told me when we were children. We spent hours looking for it. Do you mean to tell me you have found it?"

He had, he said, then led her over to the big fireplace at the back of the parlor. Strangely, for it was mid-day, he lit the kerosene lamp on the mantel and handed it to her, then pointed out one of the decorative bricks sticking out slightly from the rest in an ornate pattern that wrapped around the opening, before he pushed on it. To her astonishment, the back wall of the fire box opened up, the unlit wood on the grate smoothly moved to one side into the new gap, and a dark passage loomed behind! "After you," Diego motioned her in, although still not looking directly into her eyes, adding, "Be careful of the stairs."

Shooting her friend a delighted grin, she did just that, holding the lantern before to light the way. A couple of turns, and there were indeed a flight of stone steps leading downward under the house, which she followed, turned the corner at the bottom, and stepped into a large, cavernous room hewed from rough stone all around. They must have been underground at that point. She stepped forward, holding the lantern high to supplement the daylight streaming dimly from several small holes in the ceiling, hearing Diego come down the steps and stop behind her.

Then she stopped dead in the center of the room, gasping. She knew this place. It was engraved on her heart, and in her bones. She knew the wooden horse box in the corner, the bales of hay stacked beside it into a chair, the little table on her left against the wall, the stool tucked underneath. She knew the dim light, the rough stone walls and floor, the smell of hay, leather, and horse, the shadowed opening of the tunnel leading away into darkness.

It was Zorro's cave.

"Please don't turn around," came Diego's voice, low and distraught, from behind her. "I don't want to see the look on your face, when you realize..." he trailed off.

Honoring his request, and giving herself time she knew she needed, she complied, standing still in the middle of the floor, holding the lantern up. "Realize what?" she prompted when he didn't continue, _needing_ him to say aloud what she could already hear in the whispered echoes.

She heard him swallow hard. "That I am Zorro. I always have been. It's always been me, from the beginning." His disembodied voice from behind, soft and low, seemed to pierce her very skin in the middle of her back and sent icy shivers down her spine. She _knew_ that voice. She heard it in her dreams. Since she had never heard it without looking at the speaker, she'd never realized the similarities between the two men's voices. (Much later, she would realize that "Diego" had habitually spoken with a slightly higher voice, just enough to throw her and others off.)

He took a deep, gasping breath and blew it out before going on, slowly, feeling his way through the truth. "Everything that I have said and done as myself – as Diego – since I returned from the University has been... an act, designed to make me the last person _anyone_, even you... no, _especially_ you, would ever suspect of being Zorro. To protect both of us," he added before she could think to ask why, and she immediately knew what he meant and nodded quickly. She couldn't speak, absorbing the magnitude of the situation, seeing him in her mind, how he had changed so drastically, and into such a mouse. _But he hadn't changed. Not really. He had been hiding himself._

"But why... why not..." she couldn't articulate what she meant, but he understood.

"Because it has worked!" his voice turned a little harsh. "Far too well! I _know_ what you think of me – of Diego – what _all_ of you think. And you were _supposed_ to! But I never realized..." He stopped, but went on before she could prompt him again. "I never realized how much, how deeply, it would come to hurt. What you – and Father – think of me." He snorted softly. "If I'd known, back at the start, how very painful it would be, how long this would go on... I don't think I would have the courage to begin." She could hear him shake his head, and he returned to the point. "But now... it _has_ gone on so long, and how you see me is so... deeply entrenched... that I don't know if you can ever... reconcile the two men you think you know." He took another deep breath and laid it bare. "I don't know if you can ever look at Diego... the way you look at Zorro."

_Oh, now, this is nonsense_ she thought, suddenly exasperated at the man she loved – both sides of him. _Is that all the respect you have for me?_ "Diego," she said aloud, letting the irritation show in her voice. Her arm was tired now, holding up the lantern, and she brought it down, turned and set it on the little table. It was a dressing table, she saw now for the first time, registering in a glance the clothes tree laden with Zorro's black clothing beside it, his mask hanging from one corner of the mirror, his silver sword and long curled whip hung on the wall above. She turned all the way around to see him standing there, slumped, fear warring with hope across his familiar, beloved face. She had a vision flash through her mind of that face covered by the black silk mask hanging beside her, and knew it without any doubt, at long last, as his own.

And she knew how to end this charade.

"Diego," she said, still exasperated at his silly male stupidity. "Shut up and kiss me."

That was undoubtedly the very last thing in the world he had expected her to say. _"What?"_ he spluttered.

"Because kisses don't lie. I will know who is kissing me. And then I will know the truth." Her voice sounded unsure to her own ears, although she knew already she had no doubts. But still... the kiss would be the final proof that both of them seemed to need at that moment. And it _was_ all true.

Diego stared at her a moment, eyes bulging, then blurted out a startled laugh, managing to stifle it a moment later as he flung placating hands up. "Sorry, you startled me. I didn't realize back then that I was setting up my own proof of identity," he added, cementing what she already knew, that he knew _exactly_ what she was referring to. Still, he seemed to want to set the stage, so to speak, to make certain they _both_ recognized every detail.

He briefly described how she had been driving her wagon, frantically trying to escape the bandits, then fell and hit her head, knocking herself out. "I was riding nearby, dressed as Zorro, thank God!, and saw it. I managed to drive the bandits away and stopped the wagon. I had nowhere else to take you, so I brought you here." The recitation seemed to be calming him, making him more sure of himself. He gestured to the hay bale chair. "You were sitting over there, looking around, and I was desperately trying not to say too much, when all at once, Felipe came down the stairs – "

_That_ name was _completely_ unexpected. "_Felipe?_" she gasped, and he gave her a rueful smile, the first lighter emotion he'd shown since entering the cave.

"He's been my accomplice since the beginning," he explained briefly, then made a cutting motion with his hand, to leave that for later. "So, to keep you from seeing him and guessing _everything_, I did what I have so longed to do, since I came back – not from Salamanca, but from Mexico City, years ago – but never dared to do before." And so saying, he stepped right up to her, took her face in both hands, and lowered his mouth onto hers.

The echo of his actions on that long ago day were immediately driven out of her mind by the same electric shock, zinging from her lips to her fingertips and toes and back. She inhaled sharply – it would have been a gasp if her mouth had been free – then did what she had wanted to do back then, flinging her arms around his neck and pressing her body into his, holding him as close as it was possible to do. Without thinking, she arched her back, forcing him to bend over her and hold her even more tightly, his hands immediately moving from her face to her back to gather her closer, and closer still.

She could hold not a single conscious thought in her mind but one: he was here. Her best and oldest friend had _not_ changed, but was the man she'd always dreamed of anyway. And he loved her too, as desperately and deeply as she loved him – both, _all_ sides of him.

Some magical, unknown, flame-fueled time later, Diego abruptly broke the deepened kiss, straightening his back and gasping. "Don't stop," she murmured, on fire and desperate. That long deep kiss had awoken feelings she'd unconsciously kept utterly in check, subsuming them in the intense daily grind of running the cantina, which had absorbed her every waking thought until that day.

"Victoria," he returned, breathing harshly. "If I don't stop now, I _won't_ stop."

"Don't stop," she repeated instantly, then, "Diego, if you stop now, you might as well take that sword and run me through. I won't last until sunset." She paused, watching as her meaning sunk in behind his eyes. "Please, Diego. Make love to me. Make me your woman. Now. Today. _Please..._ I have waited _so long. _I can't wait any longer."

Still, he drew back a step, but put a finger gently on her lips to still her anguished protest. Then he stepped carefully around her and over to Toronado's stall, grabbing a blanket and his long black cape as he went. He spread them out over the clean straw, then turned back to her and held out his hand, his eyes alight with the fire they each knew was kindled within them both.

Her own face aglow, she kicked off her shoes and went into his arms.


	10. Chapter 10

_**Chapter Ten**_

Victoria would _never_ forget that long, emotion-soaked afternoon – how on earth _could _she?_ – _or her wild, passionate joy at realizing she would never again be torn by her unaccountable love for two different men.

Because they _weren't_ two different men.

They were two sides of the _same_ man.

And best of all, he combined the _best_ of each man she thought she knew. Everything she had always loved about Diego, and everything she loved about Zorro, was true, and all rolled into one. It was the negatives, all the awful, distasteful, frustrating traits and habits, that had made up his two false masks – one physical, one not – which all were left behind and forgotten.

And he loved her as well, always had, as much as she loved him; and they proved it, first with their bodies, then their vows, claiming each other as husband and wife, even if only in private – for now. Their informal, handfasting marriage wasn't sanctioned by the church, or probably even by law, but each knew they were bound to the other for the rest of their lives.

* * *

Later, upstairs in the dining room with Don Alejandro – who had immediately divined their bond without needing explanation – the three of them quietly discussed the situation out of earshot of the de la Vega household staff. Diego and Victoria _couldn't_ be together in public, not yet, not for a while, because Zorro still had a monster of a target on his back and a price on his head. They had to find a way to ease into it without raising the kind of suspicions that would land them _all_ on the alcalde's gallows.

Besides which, Diego admitted, between the massively heightened danger to two of the three people he loved the most, and the mysterious disappearance of the third, Felipe, he simply didn't have the heart to continue as Zorro. "I just can't do it any more," he sighed, while his two listeners nodded understanding. "Not just the last week, and today... it's _everything_ that has happened the past few months. It's just gotten to be too much. I can't go on. I'm afraid that Zorro is going to have to disappear."

Victoria suddenly realized he was referring also to Gilberto Resendo, his unknown twin brother who had sought out her handfasted husband and father-in-law for his twisted vengeance. And with the realization came another mystery: how had his hidden identity as Zorro played into that? She would never ask, she decided at once. But there was something else she needed to say. She turned to Tio Alejo.

"Father," she began gently, placing her hand over his and ignoring the slightly illicit thrill of using the moniker, "Diego told me about the Resendos. Who he – and she – really were, and why they had come, and the outcome. I am so... unspeakably sorry. I wish there was something I could do." If Diego had broken and bled from being forced kill his brother, that agony did not erase what Don Alejandro must have felt, seeing his two sons at each other's throats with lethal intent.

He saw her understanding in her eyes, and gave her a sad little smile in appreciation while patting her hand, but said nothing. There was nothing to say.

"I don't understand some people," she went on, meaning more than the Resendos. "How can one _live_ with such hatred and vengeance in their heart, so that _that_ is all they see and know?"

"I think that is one of the things that divides people – I mean, one of the ways they can be divided," Diego put in softly. "Whether they live by love and charity, or hate and revenge. I think that's the true divide between good and evil in the world."

"I am glad," Don Alejandro spoke at last, "that the three of us are of the first sort, and bound by it. I would not want..." he struggled for words for a moment. "I would not want to see the world as such a dark and evil place. I prefer the light."

"Well, that rather begs the question of whether _anybody_ ever desires to be in the other group. I rather doubt it. We are what we are," concluded his philosophy-trained son. "But I am glad to be here, too." He smiled, a little ruefully. "And most of all I am glad that the three of us agree."

They decided, finally, that they would have to put on an elaborate charade for a few months, "slowly" changing and coming together. Victoria admitted the first steps wouldn't be that much of a leap for her personally. "You haven't been in town, Diego, so you haven't seen. I was completely rattled by the earthquake; I only reopened the cantina two days ago, and only slept there again last night. And I didn't keep it a secret, either. So... I will simply let it be known that the earthquake has made me stop and re-evaluate my life. That I'm tired of waiting for a masked man who never comes around to stay, and likely never will. That I plan to move on."

Don Alejandro put in that she was going to see _many_ potential suitors come around to the cantina as soon as word of _that_ got out.

"I'm not entirely certain that's not what she has in mind, Father," Diego teased straight-faced. "Keep me on my toes." Victoria made a show of considering the idea before she grinned at her husband. "So if Diego, that poor benighted fool," he went on, drawling, "wants to make good on what the earthquake made _him_ realize, that he's in love with his childhood best friend and always has been, then he is going to _have_ to step up and make himself into a better man, in order to cut through the crowd. Right?"

She couldn't help but smile her agreement.

* * *

The only way Victoria made it through the next twelve months and kept the charade intact was the amount of time she and Diego managed to spend together, both publicly and privately. He snuck into the pueblo late at night as often as he could, spending several hours tucked away inside her room. In daylight, with Felipe's continuing absence, Diego appointed himself to bring the mare each Monday for her trip to the port, and on most days decided to go with her, "so as to collect supplies and shipments for the ranch, too." The two hours each direction became their secret joy, as they were able to simply open up and _talk_ to each other, about... everything. Especially, each incident of the past five years, while he had been "playing at Zorro", as he called it, they dissected and discussed, sharing their respective feelings, frustrations, and triumphs completely for the first time. It was a magical way to truly get to know each other.

Nor did it escape others' notice that de la Vega seemed to be getting the edge on courting the newly-available mistress of the Cantina Victoria, but there seemed to be nothing anyone could do about it. The few times one of the other local interested men was able to horn in, riding alongside the wagon on his horse, or even – very occasionally – in the wagon, when Diego couldn't make it for some reason, they got nowhere. She was polite and smiling, but never seemed to let anyone in.

Even the alcalde stepped across to the cantina once or twice, inviting Victoria to have dinner with him. The first time, busy with customers, she merely brushed him off. The second time, with the cantina empty, she stopped and stared at him as he stood on the other side of the bar. He seemed to have made a special effort that day to look handsome and well-groomed; his white hair carefully slicked back, his slender hands clean and fingernails trimmed, his black suit and white shirt pressed and starched. "Ignacio," she finally said, "we have _nothing_ in common. I am not the least bit interested in seeing you. Please stop asking me."

"That's not what you said once before," de Soto smirked. "I recall a day when you were _very_ interested."

"Under the influence of a false 'love potion'!" she replied instantly, and hotly, knowing very well what he was referring to. "It wasn't even real, any of it. We fooled ourselves into believing it!" He didn't look convinced, and her brows flared in surprise. "Do you mean to say you _believed_ it was real? You actually thought that I... was _in love_ with you?" The words tasted like ashes even as she spit them out.

De Soto's face twisted into something ugly for a second, then he smoothed it out so fast she wondered if she'd actually seen it. "Of course not. I was simply testing the waters, so to speak. Good day, Señorita." And he swung around on his heel and stalked swiftly out the door before she could react.

Staring after his back, she realized, _He __did__ believe it, at least a little._ She recalled the few times since that she'd caught him looking at her with a glint she hadn't wanted to recognize. She hadn't mistaken that lightening glimpse of his true ugly self at the end, however. _He is going to be a problem._ Then she snorted. When _wasn't_ he a problem, and how?

* * *

She didn't spend the entire year just waiting and running the cantina. She had set herself a task, and bent to it conscientiously. She carefully studied the Dons and Doñas whenever they came to town, especially the latter: how they moved, how they spoke, how they gestured, how they held themselves and looked at others, the clothes they wore and how they arranged their hair. She was determined to fit into their elevated society somehow, even if just edgewise, after she married one of them. Oh, she knew she would _never_ be accepted by all – perhaps not even most – of them. But she absolutely would _not_ embarrass herself, nor her husband, nor his father, by looking or acting like a... a crude, uncultured _peasant, _whenever she brushed against society (even if that _was_ her actual background). So she watched, and made mental notes, and even practiced late at night in front of her mirror when no one else was around to see, gesturing and speaking, sitting and walking. She made it a point to try to glide down the cantina stairs as though floating. It was a stubborn point of pride that nobody noticed all year, not even her best friend Merida, the sutler's wife across the plaza. Diego could have told her she had nothing to worry about – indeed, he would do so after their public marriage and she confessed her efforts to him – that the manners instilled in her since her birth by her father were as smooth and conscientious as anyone could wish, but she still felt better for the polish the practice gave her.

She was also working secretly on her wardrobe, buying lengths of finer quality cloth than she was used to, and carefully sewing them into a few well-fitting dresses, skirts, and blouses, with the help of Señora Sanchez, the town's best seamstress. Her best and most important effort was also to be her wedding dress. Two lengths of dove-grey fabric, one satin and one silk, were fearlessly (by the Señora) cut up and stitched into an elegant gown, form-fitting bodice and gracefully flaring skirts which just brushed the floor all around, after which Victoria sat down every night to sew three hundred tiny seed pearls onto the bodice, to cascade down like waves from the neckline to the waist.

When at last it was finished, the year she and Diego had agreed upon was up.

All her efforts were paid off royally in the astonished, enchanted expressions in the eyes first of Tio Alejo, who gave her away, and then Diego, waiting for her at the altar on the day of their long-awaited church wedding. The frustrating, nail-biting year, all the trials and difficulties, all the times she was afraid their words or expressions had said too much, all the rude demanding men – strangers and citizens alike – all of it melted away into nothing, as she stood before the altar with the love of her life and publicly exchanged the vows that made their bond official in the sight of God and man. Even the evil threats of Alcalde de Soto, who stalked into the reception to quietly claim she had painted a "Z" on Diego's back and he would still have his revenge, could only dim the brilliance of her joy but so much, and for only so long. By the time they climbed into the carriage to begin their little honeymoon sojourn near the sea, de Soto had already been forgotten.


	11. Chapter 11

_**Chapter Eleven**_

Victoria stood in the center of the little-used second-best guest bedroom two doors down from the one she shared with Diego, hugging herself with a happy little smile. She should have been making plans, but instead, she was simply enjoying her secret knowledge for just a little while longer, anticipating what his reaction would be. Lifting one hand, she held the little golden locket on its chain around her neck and caressed it softly. A beautifully-wrought filigree heart, with tiny catch and hinge, barely larger than the end of her thumb, Diego had given it to her a few days after their church wedding, to replace his mother's ring – now worn proudly and openly on her finger – on her necklace. She had immediately fetched her tiny embroidery scissors and cut a curl from the back of his head to place inside the keepsake, carefully tied with a golden thread. Now she never took it off, a symbol of the love they had promised each other that day in the secret tunnel below her feet, which had only grown richer and deeper with each passing day.

It had been an exciting year and a half since their public wedding, as she had adjusted to her new roles – and others had adjusted to her filling them. There was a whole lot more to running a ranch, not to mention being mistress of a hacienda, than she had supposed. Don Alejandro, bless him, had let many things slide during those long years as a widower, and all the staff had gotten used to his ways. Victoria had no intention of upsetting the apple cart or becoming a tyrantess, but she had slowly – very slowly – taken things in hand, using her knowledge of people and her skills from running the cantina, until now the place was gleaming, work hummed along at an appropriate pace for sleepy California while still getting everything done, including many things long ignored, and most importantly, everyone smiled through the day.

Nor was she confined to Mistress of the Household. Don Alejandro believed in sharing both responsibility and knowledge, fully aware that he would not live forever, and had brought her into the day-to-day management of the entire ranch alongside his son. All three of them worked together – although each had their own areas of primary expertise: she the household, Diego his new horse breeding operation, and Father the cattle and overall ranch – but they remained aware of and involved in the other areas, as well. Just in case. Here, her business experience became especially valuable; she knew a whole lot more than she had believed at first, and was able to straighten out their finances and bring some clarity to the strictly business side of things.

And she was still involved in running the cantina, as she had not sold it on her marriage and move to the ranch. She had hired a childless widower, Tonio, just moved up from Baja California to run it; he had brought his also-widowed mother Serafina along, and she took over the cantina's kitchen and cleaning. But still, as the owner, Victoria went in each Monday to look over the books and approve Tonio's decisions. He was proving to be a cheerful, reliable manager.

Nor were _any_ of the de la Vegas uninvolved with the larger community, staying incommunicado on their land. Although Alcalde de Soto was still busy on his own ranch, and didn't make as much trouble for their neighbors as he had previously, he did still make some – for Diego, more than anyone else. He seemed to be concentrating his non-ranch thoughts on catching the man he believed to have been his nemesis, Zorro. But even without him, any community has its endless array of issues to be dealt with, and the de la Vegas were in the thick of it, moving between the worlds of landowner and landless with ease, finding solutions and smoothing the way. Diego, for his part, preferred to remain out of the spotlight; saying little but backing up his father – but whenever he _did_ speak, he was now respectfully listened to by all. He had proved himself in that regard in the last two years, many times over.

So, she had been very busy. And was about to become busier still. She smiled again, joyfully.

"Victoria! Where are you?" came Diego's call from the hall.

"Back here!" she replied, but said nothing more and didn't move, letting him come discover her.

"What are you doing in here?" he laughed as he peeked through the open door, then entered on seeing her there.

"Making plans," she began mysteriously, but then went on before he could ask, reaching out to take both his hands in hers. "To turn this room into a nursery."

He took a breath, his face twisted with a hint of concern. "Isn't that jumping the gun a little bit?"

Victoria let her smile slowly stretch her mouth wide as she gazed at his beloved face. "Nooooo," she said softly, and watched it hit him. "Not any more."

His reaction was all she had expected. His eyes flew open wide as his jaw dropped, joyous rapture flooding his face. "You're _pregnant?"_ he breathed. "Are you certain?"

"Yes! I saw Maria Sanchez yesterday and she confirmed it." Maria was the pueblo's best and most experienced midwife. "I'm already two months along!" A huge grin suddenly split Diego's face as he pulled her into his arms for an ecstatic hug and kiss, then swept her up and swung her around several times, her flying feet and long green skirt brushing the bed, her long curly hair slipping out of the "respectable" bun she attempted to tame it into each morning.

When he set her down again, she laughed and raised her hands to try to recapture the escaped locks, but Diego quickly grabbed her hands and pulled them back down. "Leave it," he said, laughing with her. "I love your hair loose." Then he leaned down and rested his forehead against hers. "I was getting a little worried," he admitted.

"I know. All those months when we had to keep our marriage secret, and tried _not_ to get pregnant – it felt like it had jinxed us," she replied, then sighed with satisfaction. "But it hasn't. I'm pregnant. I'm going to have your baby, Diego de la Vega."

"_Our_ baby," he said proudly. "Like everything else, he – or she – is and will be a joint exercise. The first of many, I hope."

"Many?" Her eyebrows raised, and he grinned, a little abashed. Oddly, for they had talked about everything _else_ under the sun, they hadn't discussed this – afraid of the potential jinx.

"Well, I don't want a _huge_ family, but I do want more than one. Three or four sounds about right."

She softened. "I agree. We were both only children, you and I. Even with our friendship, it was a little lonely sometimes – especially after you went off to school. I don't want that for our children."

"Me, neither. I want to _fill_ this hacienda with family – and laughter, and love, and respect – and _life_."

"Well, there is certainly plenty of room!" she laughed again. There were, indeed, several empty bedrooms down the long hall. Don Alejandro's father had planned ahead for larger families than he or his offspring had so far provided.

Movement past the door caught Diego's eye, and he called Don Alejandro back and into the room to tell him the news. His father's reaction was as joyful as theirs; more than one happy tear snuck down a de la Vega cheek at the thought that at last the small, close-knit family was beginning to be expanded.

Finally, Victoria looked around the guest bedroom again, explaining that she was considering how best to turn it into a nursery. "But..." Don Alejandro began, gesturing towards the room next door, which was connected to the expectant parents' room by an interior door – then cut himself off abruptly.

Because _that_ room had been Felipe's, and had never been touched – except for dusting – in the two and a half years since the young man's disappearance.

In the sudden awkward silence, Diego took a deep breath and let it out. "We should – _I_ should face the facts," he said softly. "We will probably never know what happened, but in all likelihood, he is never coming back, or he would have by now." He paused to swallow hard, then pushed himself on. "And that _is_ the best room for a nursery."

His two listeners glanced at each other, neither certain they completely agreed with all that. Then Victoria laid a gentle hand on her husband's arm. "I have an idea," she began, as softly as he. "That room, and especially that child's bed, is really too small for a grown man." He would be eighteen or more by now, a grown man indeed. She took a breath. "Why don't I gather up his things and move them in here?" A large double bed was standing in the center. "Then _this_ will be his room, _when_ he returns."

"Certainly more appropriate for an adult," Don Alejandro added his approval.

"I _refuse_ to give up on him," Victoria breathed, her determination showing despite the slight volume.

Diego looked gratefully at his adored wife, his eyes liquid. He placed a hand over hers on his arm and simply nodded his acceptance of the plan.

A short time later, the men dispersed to their own tasks and left her to it. Don Alejandro walked out to confer with his ranch foreman, Juan Carlos, about the day ahead, while Diego saddled his gelding and rode out to meet Jaime Mendoza, _his_ right hand, at the horse paddocks. Shortly before their church wedding, Jaime had gone several steps too far for the alcalde – or, from Jaime's point of view, de Soto had gone several steps too far for _him_. At any rate, the former Sergeant had been unceremoniously drummed out of the Lancer Corps and the Army of New Spain and set adrift. Diego had immediately caught his best friend up and set him up as the foreman of his horse breeding operation, begun a few months before. Jaime had agreed, and taken up residence (after staying at the cantina for a few days to relax a bit and protect Victoria from some passing ruffians) in a newly built, small adobe house beyond the paddocks, so as to keep a closer eye on the valuable stock. He claimed to be happy with his new life, but Victoria often wondered – his eyes did not quite match his words. She often thought he would be better if he found a wife and started a family, but he made no moves in that direction, claiming to be a lifelong bachelor and content with it. She disagreed, but made no effort to interfere – she had had enough of that sort of comment about her own life, thank you!

Shaking her head now to rid herself of those thoughts, she stepped into Felipe's old room and looked around at everything, making an effort to brush off memories of the shy little boy she had befriended and helped to raise and the aching, unanswerable question remaining, and to look at each item with neutral eyes, the better to determine what was _his_, specifically, and needed to be moved to his new room.

Clothes and shoes were easy; she simply moved every item, regardless of size. He could go through them when he returned. She caught her breath at the small bundle carefully tucked into the bottom drawer of his dresser. When she unfolded them, they were the pants and loose tunic of a small boy, sitting atop equally small, worn leather sandals. _They must have been the clothes he was wearing when Diego found him,_ she realized. The only things – literally – he had from his previous, unremembered life. She folded them back up and tucked them just as gently into the dresser in his new room.

The throw rug beside his bed and the blanket on it he would remember; she moved them too, folding the now much-too-small blanket and laying it across the foot of the bed as a mostly-decorative coverlet. Then she turned to the items strewn across the top of the dresser: "treasures" and memories such as a growing boy might collect. An iron horse shoe (whose, she wondered); a few pretty or striking rocks, including one with flecks of fool's gold embedded in it; some seashells from the beach near the port (she remembered several picnics eaten there); a large pine cone; an old, dull, small boy's knife in a worn leather sheath. All of these she took and arranged on the new dresser. From his walls she took down a couple of drawings Diego had made in charcoal – his signature was in the corner – of the hacienda and a stand of pine trees, respectively; and a large board with samples of knots tied with string tacked onto it – she remembered Diego teaching the boy how to tie them with the help of a worn book. That same book she discovered on his short book shelf, along with some picture books, and a beginner's reading and writing primer. She leafed through it, discovering a few loose pages tucked inside with letters and short words printed on them in a very young, determined hand. Felipe _had_ – at least at one time – been trying to learn to read and write. She wondered how far he had gotten, and wished – not for the first time! – that she had been able to help him more herself. More, she wished he had trusted her enough to tell her about being able to hear; Diego had confessed that bit to her some time before as he described how the boy – then teenager – had been Zorro's accomplice and spy. People would say anything in front of him, and often did, since they believed him deaf as well as mute. Victoria sighed again and then shook her head hard to get rid of the memories and back to work.

And then, on the floor behind the door, she found his tool box; the flat, open, wooden box with a carrying handle, holding a number of varied and useful hand tools, that he had brought to her cantina each day while he worked on the expansion under Jose Perez. Victoria's knees unexpectedly buckled at the sight, and she sat on the edge of his little bed and burst into quiet tears, the heartbreak of his sudden, inexplicable disappearance washing over her once more. _Where are you, little Felipe? What happened to you?_ Diego had referred to him as "the son of my heart"; he was no less the son of hers.

A few minutes later, however, she was startled out of her reverie by a loud pounding on the front door of the hacienda. Jumping to her feet, she dashed the tears from her eyes with the back of a hand and walked swiftly out the door and down the hall. Don Alejandro beat her to the front door, swinging it open to reveal none other than their sometime enemy, the pueblo's venal alcalde, Ignacio de Soto.

Spying both of them, his face twisted into an evil, triumphant grin.


	12. Chapter 12

_**Chapter Twelve**_

Victoria walked quickly up to stand just behind Don Alejandro's shoulder, trying not to glare at the Alcalde. "What do you want, de Soto?" her elder sighed wearily, eschewing any honorifics.

De Soto's smile widened maliciously, a feral gleam coming into his eyes as they swept back and forth between them, making Victoria's skin crawl. He went for a mock-pleasant tone in his voice. "I thought I would come and give you the news, Señor de la Vega." He never used "Don" with any of them any more, Victoria realized. Tit for tat. "So you won't have to stay up late wondering, this time." With that not-so-veiled reference to Felipe, he crossed his arms and smirked as he waited for the fish to bite.

A flash of fear streaked across her mind – had something happened to Diego, in the short couple of hours since he had left? She tried to squash it, but it refused to lie down and be quiet. But how would de Soto know?

"What do you mean? What news?" Don Alejandro asked sharply, and she knew he had felt the same flash.

De Soto's eyes turned to Victoria, boring into hers. "Your husband will not be coming home," he said softly, adding after a beat, "ever."

She gasped, but at the same moment, Don Alejandro took a quick step towards their visitor. _"What do you mean?"_ he spat, his voice now taught with fear and anger. The knuckles on his hand still holding the edge of the door turned white as his grip hardened.

De Soto turned back to Father. "I caught your son and his... _assistant_..." the word dripped with sarcasm for his former sergeant, "red-handed this morning with a stolen horse. He is a simple horse thief, and has been duly dealt with."

Don Alejandro was nothing if not quick on his feet. "You mean to say you arrested him – them – on trumped-up, ridiculously false charges. Diego and Jaime would never do such a thing, and you know it. Well, this will last as long as any of the other legal maneuvers you have tried to pull. I will have them both out of your jail by the end of the day, and you will be making a public apology," he pronounced with quiet certainty.

But de Soto only laughed malevolently. "They aren't in my jail, you old fool. I said they have already been dealt with. They were caught with a rope around the stolen horse's neck, so I treated them the same way all horse thieves are: tried on the spot, convicted, and sentenced."

All the blood drained out of both their faces as that sunk in. Horse thieves were usually hung – or shot.

Don Alejandro clutched harder at the door for support. "You mean he's..." He was unable to complete the sentence, but de Soto knew what he was getting at.

"Oh, no, he's still alive – for now. I happened to have a group of army recruiters on hand – "

"A press gang, you mean," Don Alejandro was able to interject.

"Whatever. At any rate, instead of wasting time with a double execution, I decided to turn the two convicted horse thieves over to them. Diego de la Vega and Jaime Mendoza," he drawled the names with relish, "are on their way south to join the Army of New Spain... as convict soldiers."

Victoria suddenly found her voice. "You can't do that!" she cried. "Not without a trial!"

"Oh, yes I can, and I have. I have every legal right as Alcalde to deal with horse thieves any way I choose – and have, many times." He raised his eyebrows in mock inquiry. "Are you saying that you would rather I had _not_ shown mercy this time?"

"Diego would _never_ steal a horse – or anything else – and neither would Mendoza, and you know it, perfectly well," Don Alejandro growled out through clenched teeth. "This will _not_ stand." He took another step forward, getting right into de Soto's face, the most furiously menacing Victoria had ever seen her pacific father-in-law. "I will have your head for this, de Soto."

The Alcalde wasn't phased. "While you're making threats, old man – illegal ones, by the way – your son is being carried away to his doom. I should think you both would want to hurry to the road, so you can wave goodbye." Refusing to move back an inch, he merely turned his head to stare insultingly at Victoria. "I'll come back another time, Señorita, to discuss our future."

"_OUR_ future?" she hissed. "Get this through your head, you..." She couldn't come up with a foul enough word that she felt like dirtying her mouth with. "There is no 'our' _anything,_ and _never_ will be."

He just snorted, smirking. "We'll see." And with that, he turned on his heel and stalked down the steps to his waiting horse.

They watched him swing into the saddle and start down the road at a showy jump. Then Victoria clutched at Don Alejandro's arm. "It can't be. Father... It can't be!"

"Come," was all he said, taking her hand in his, then he made himself walk as swiftly as his suddenly leaden feet allowed down the steps and towards the barn, shouting for several of his men. When they all came running, he issued terse orders, sending them in all directions to find Diego and Mendoza, then told the last, his old reliable stable hand, to saddle his mare, Dulcinea.

"And mine, too!" Victoria exclaimed. "You are not leaving me here to wait and wonder!" she added to Father's surprised look, which swiftly changed to a terse nod of understanding.

In the end, she saddled her mare herself, trying not to get lost in the day Diego had so proudly given it to her shortly after their church wedding – and then patiently taught her to ride over the succeeding months, until she could do so nearly as well as himself. Balada was a small, graceful, patient black mother of several prime foals, nearly ten years old, calm and smooth-gaited – perfect for a lady, or a beginning rider, or both. She blessed the impulse that morning that had prompted her to put on her split skirt, preparing to go for a ride later; she detested the side saddle other ladies used, and had refused to even learn how to use it. There was no time to waste now changing clothes.

But which way? When both were mounted, she looked helplessly at Don Alejandro, for once at a loss. He thought for a moment, then nodded sharply, telling her in a low voice, "he said they were on the road, heading south. We should head that way, just in case..." Nodding back, she reined Balada beside Dulcinea, and they took the lane leading to the main road to Mexico proper.

On reaching the crossroads, Don Alejandro held up his hand for Victoria and the two men still with them to hold back while he checked for tracks. The dirt seemed clear to her, although she had no such training. Finally, he reined his horse back over to her.

"Nothing. No one has come this way for several days. We should head back north along the road."

Before they could start, however, a distant shout made them pull up again. Two of the men he had sent out north were galloping hard towards them – and two more from the paddocks towards the west. "It's true!" one of the first pair called out as soon as they were within earshot. "We saw them – both of them! Chained in a wagon, surrounded by the press gang! They are headed this way!"

"Diego and Jaime both?" Don Alejandro asked sharply, needing the confirmation. The man nodded. "Santa Maria," he muttered a prayer. He hadn't really believed de Soto's "news" until that moment. Victoria felt her face go white again.

"What do we do?" she whispered.

Don Alejandro drew a deep breath. "We will wait for them here," he said decisively. Directing them all to dismount, leaving the horses tied up in the stand of trees beside the crossroads, he had his six men – all armed with rifles – form a line across the roadway, while he and Victoria stood before them. And then they waited.

Victoria's nerves were stretched to breaking. _This can't be real. This can't be happening. He can't be getting ripped away from me like this. Diego, Diego!_ Arrested for _horse theft?_ Convicted on the spot and given to the _Army?_ This was something from a nightmare!

Thankfully, they didn't have to wait long. After only a few minutes, they heard the jangle of metal traces, the harsh rattle of a wagon, and the clop-clop of several horse's hooves coming along towards them. Around the bend in the road a few hundred yards away they slowly came: a large wooden wagon drawn by two draft horses, with two men on the raised driver's bench, with several more men on horseback ranging alongside. Each of the half-dozen-or-so was heavily armed, with the sour, hard expressions of men unafraid to use their guns at any moment.

Peering past the drivers, Victoria's heart sank to her feet as she spied her husband, and a moment later Jaime Mendoza, sitting in the back of the wagon, their backs to one side, facing the center. She could hear the rattle of chains even over the noise of the horses. Diego raised his head suddenly and found her eyes with his own, wretched despair already etched deeply into his face.

The driver pulled the team to a stop several yards from the standing line. "What do you want, old man?" he called out, his voice as hard as his face.

Victoria heard Don Alejandro answer, his voice firm but reasonable, but couldn't concentrate on the words. She was drowning in Diego's eyes, even from that distance. How many times had they stared at each other like this over the years, she from the cantina porch, he from behind his black mask before he whirled Toronado around and rode away like the wind? Would this be the last, torturous glimpse she ever had of her beloved, her soulmate? She felt herself shaking her head slightly to deny the thought and stopped it – whatever message he might take from that movement would _not_ be what she wanted him to have.

She felt Father move away, walking up to stand beside the near draft horse's rump, smoothly offering something of a bribe – and getting nowhere. Her feet suddenly broke free of their paralysis, taking her up to stand next to him of their own accord. She wrenched her eyes from Diego and raised the instead to the driver – obviously the leader of the group, adding her own plea. "He's my husband. I'm carrying his child. Please don't take him from me!"

"Then you should have chosen a better husband than a common horse thief, Señora!" came the harsh, unyielding reply. "Now get out of my way!" He went to lash the horses with the reins, but Don Alejandro had one more plea to make, trying his best not to break down.

"May I say goodbye to my son? May his wife say goodbye to her husband?"

"You can both wave as he rides past, old man. Now MOVE!" Don Alejandro grabbed Victoria and nearly dragged her back, out of the path of the wagon wheels, just in time, waving his men to the side of the road as well.

Diego and Jaime were sitting on the far side of the wagon, facing them across several other men similarly chained. Jaime had his head bowed in humiliation and despair, while Diego's tortured eyes still bored into his wife's several yards distant. She could think of nothing to say, but Don Alejandro's voice, strong and righteous once more, rang out across the road.

"Diego! This is _not_ legal, and will _not_ stand! I _will_ get this overturned, and bring you home, as fast as I can!"

She saw his mouth move, then he swallowed, and forced words out. "I _will_ come home! I _swear_ it! I _will..."_ His voice cracked.

"I will be here!" Half fact, half promise. Then she amended it, dropping her hands from her face to her belly, as if protecting her tiny passenger. "_We_ will be here." It came out in a hoarse whisper, but she knew he could read her lips. "I love you," she added silently. All he could do was nod back, his face twisted in anguish – and then he was too far away for more.

Wife and father stumbled into the center of the roadway after the wagon and horsemen passed and stood there motionless, watching as the tiny caravan carrying their loved ones slowly rattled away. Suddenly Don Alejandro's voice rang out once more, strong and fierce, telling Jaime that he, too, would be coming home – that this _was_ his home. They saw the former sergeant lift his head, peering back, and nod once, but he was already too far away to read his expression.

The dirt road ran straight as an arrow for nearly half a mile before it began wending the way between low brown hills. Unable to turn away while they were still in sight, Victoria and Don Alejandro stood still in the middle of the track, staring blindly after them, until the last rattle died and even the dust had settled once more.

She still couldn't believe it. _This can't be real. This has to be a nightmare. Why can't I wake up? _She kept waiting in numb shock, hoping for someone to call her name or shake her awake in her bed, but long minutes ticked away without that blessed relief.

At last, it was Father who turned and took her arm. "Victoria..." he began hoarsely, but she shook her head violently. But the horrific spell that held her fast was broken, and her mind began unwillingly to think again. And the thought that came first, and would not leave, was the vision of Ignacio de Soto, smirking in their doorway as he crowed his victory over his old enemy, Zorro – even if he hadn't mentioned the name. A terrible flood of emotion, a roiling mass of grief, fury, longing, fear, pain, anguish, hatred, and a hundred others impossible to tease apart and name, washed through her small frame, and she knew she would never be the same again.

"Father," she whispered. "Do you remember the day Diego told me the truth, and we became handfasted?"

"I will never forget a single minute of that day," he replied.

"I brought up the Resendos." How could her voice be so steady? "And I said... that I could not understand people who lived for years with only hatred in their hearts."

She could feel him turn to look at her, saw his puzzled expression without even looking. Slowly she turned her head to return his gaze, and he nearly flinched from the ice in her eyes. "I am beginning to understand," she told him, her voice lower and colder than he had ever heard it. Before he could form a response, she gathered up her skirt with one hand and turned to walk back to the horses.

"Victoria, no!" he found his voice at last. She halted, but did not turn, her back arrow straight, her head stiffly high. "Please," he went on. "Don't do this. Do not let this poison you, and turn you into another Inez Resendo. For the love of God, Victoria. For the love of Diego. Do not let this poison turn your child into another Gilberto. I beg you." He stopped, waiting, but she was silent. "Remember the love we all share, and the respect. Stay with us. Stay the Victoria I have loved your whole life."

She couldn't make that promise. She couldn't think of anything beyond the chasm of raw, aching grief and hatred that had, within the space of an hour, shattered her into tiny jagged pieces. There was no love, no happiness left. Without a sign of acknowledgment, she started on – and then was suddenly running, pulling Balada's reins free in a trice, scrambling somehow into the saddle without help, and then she wheeled the mare around and started her at a gallop away from the roads, straight into the countryside, tears streaming unchecked down her face as she held in the wild howl of anguish with sheer willpower.


	13. Chapter 13

_**Chapter Thirteen**_

That black day saw the beginning of the de la Vega's open, public enmity towards Alcalde Ignacio de Soto. Although they never once slipped across the line into outright illegality, they fought, and blocked – mostly successfully – every move he made as alcalde – and many of his personal actions, as well. The battle was widened as they spread the word of Diego's and Jaime's fates, and enlisted all their many friends and neighbors until most of the wider community was on their side. Only a few of the most conservative, stiff-necked hidalgos sniffed their support for the alcalde.

Even the lancers of the garrison, under the newly-promoted Sergeant Manuel Rojas – Mendoza's former corporal – began following de Soto's orders only unwillingly, becoming remarkably slow and inept at every turn; so much so that most prisoners they even caught were able to slip away, especially those accused of cheating at their taxes or other civil offenses. And then finally, the hired hands on de Soto's acquired ranch quit en masse, slipping away to other jobs on other ranches, leaving behind only a tiny handful of sour, broken men. After that, de Soto retreated to his property, leaving the pueblo largely to its own devices and letting the Council of Dons, the group of ranch owners who met regularly, run things. He came into town himself less and less often, and was more and more disheveled and ragged each time as a result of the hard physical labor he was now forced to perform with his own hands. The contrast with his former appearance, with his starched, pressed, spotless uniform and slick grooming, could not have been greater.

Victoria eventually won her battle against her hated enemy. But she would never rest until she was completely free of him.

* * *

Don Alejandro stood, devastated, in the middle of the road after the wagon carrying Diego and Jaime south had passed into the distance, watching Victoria's back as she rode madly away into the depths of the ranch. Suddenly he snapped out it, gathering his half-dozen rancheros around with a word. Two of them he ordered to mount up and follow his daughter-in-law – at a distance. "Do not crowd her; give her space. But make sure she gets home safely."

"Si, Patron." And they mounted up and galloped away, keeping her in sight.

The next two – who had come from the horse paddocks – he sent back there again. "Do whatever needs to be done. Diego's horses are in your care until we decide what we will do next." Then he turned to another man, worn and weathered. "Jose, you are my most trusted ranchero. There is something I need you to do especially. Go back to the hacienda and quickly gather supplies, enough for many days. Then follow that wagon, and see where they go. Do _not_ confront them – in fact, try not to even let them see you. But follow them."

"How far?"

"Until they head into the desert – or make to go around it. Then return. But if they turn back, or turn aside – or if anything... _unusual_ happens... I want to know about it." A quick nod and off he went. The last man, the old stable hand Miguel, Don Alejandro told to come with himself, and he mounted and rode quickly into town.

His first stop was the alcalde's office inside the garrison walls – although he had to steel himself to enter. De Soto was there at his desk, just finishing writing on a large sheet of paper, and he looked up at Don Alejandro with astonishment.

The elder man wasted no time, gesturing towards the paper. "Is that your report on this morning?"

De Soto's eyes narrowed further, suspicious, but managed to say levelly, "It is."

"I have a legal right to a faithful copy of any official report that concerns my son, or my employee." An onlooker might have thought Don Alejandro's smile to be friendly if they didn't know better. "I would be happy to make the copy myself, if you will sign it."

De Soto looked like he was considering the offer, the idea of that respected don acting like his office lackey, then discarded it. "That will not be necessary," he replied coldly, then called for his clerk in the outer office, handing the man the paper and giving the order for a word-for-word copy to be made quickly, after which he would sign them both.

"I'll be in the cantina," Don Alejandro told the clerk pleasantly, "if you wouldn't mind bringing the copy to me there." The clerk checked wordlessly with de Soto, who waved him off, then nodded agreement.

Don Alejandro took a deep, cleansing breath once he stepped back out into the sunshine, and then made good on that promise, walking across the plaza and into the Cantina Victoria. As he had hoped, a few off-duty lancers were there – and in one corner, Sergeant Rojas was nursing a glass of wine by himself. Don Alejandro bought a bottle of red from Tonio behind the bar and took it and a glass to the man's table, telling Miguel to wait at the bar.

Rojas looked up in astonishment as the elder de la Vega came to his table, then half rose from his seat. "Don Alejandro..." he began, shaking his head, but the other waved him off and sat across the table, pouring wine from the new bottle into both their glasses.

"Please, Sergeant, sit down. I am not here to make any trouble for you. I only want information – the truth, not embroidered tales, of precisely what happened this morning. You were there?"

Rojas sank back down and nodded slowly.

"Then please, tell me. Step by step, everything you did and everything you witnessed. The facts, nothing more. As if you were telling it in court." He paused, then said with quiet sincerity, "I need to know what happened to my son, Sergeant. Please."

* * *

Miles away, Victoria's tired horse began slowing from her mad gallop at last. Her rider realized suddenly how hard she'd driven Balada and immediately reined her in further, allowing the mare to drop to a trot, then a walk, as she picked her way up the side of a hill. At the crest, Victoria turned her head back towards the west and halted, staring unseeing at the view.

The Rancho de la Vega was spread below her feet, several square miles of rolling hills studded with hundreds of beef cattle and the occasional spring. At this time of year, late fall, the hills were brown and tawny gold, for in southern California the winter is the rainy season when everything turns deep brilliant green, then slowly dies over the long, hot, dry summer. The natural mineral springs with their crisp clear water were vital to the cattle, and therefore the ranch.

Turning her head, she peered south, and for a moment fancied she could see the dust from the wagon bearing her beloved husband away in chains – but it was only a mirage and she knew it. He was gone, and her arms were empty, and she was desperately afraid they would ever remain so. She was as aware as anyone the dismal life expectancy of a convict soldier: half didn't last the first year, and nearly none made it through their entire sentence. The Army of New Spain was a heartless, bloodthirsty machine, chewing up its own manpower – except for its officers, heaven-blessed with the uncanny knack for survival (by dint of ordering underlings into battle while never going near it themselves) – and spitting out the foot soldiers in a long bloody trail of corpses. Victory was all that mattered; the cost in blood was never considered.

Movement to her left suddenly caught her attention, and she sharply turned her head to see two men ride out of the trees she had just ridden through, then stop, standing their horses side-by-side a few hundred yards away. They were both looking straight at her, but then dropped their heads so the wide brims of their hats hid their eyes, as though giving her a semblance of privacy. Her heart raced, thinking they were bandits, but then a beat later she recognized them: Paco and Johann, two of Don Alejandro's rancheros – who had been at the road, in fact. Her father-in-law must have sent them after her, watching over her, for her safety – but with orders not to disturb her.

The image of Don Alejandro sprang to her mind; the very embodiment of kindness and honor, and fatherly love. She had known him her entire life, and called him Uncle – until she married Diego and switched to Father. He could not be feeling any less outraged and bereft than herself on this day. That thought pierced the armor of her fury, and she slumped at last in despair, her tears now full of pain more than anger.

* * *

What had happened, Sergeant Rojas told Don Alejandro succinctly, was that de Soto had roused the lancers at dawn with orders to saddle up, then led them on a roundabout ride through the countryside, avoiding all roads or dwellings, until they pulled up behind a low hill. Another small group of armed men were also riding along behind, making Rojas and the lancers nervous, but de Soto ordered them to ignore the men. And there they waited, ordered to keep still and silent, while the Alcalde and another man – Rojas recognized him at last as Simon Izquierdo, who worked for Don Fernando on his ranch over to the west of the pueblo – while they walked to where they could watch over the hill towards whatever was beyond. Rojas realized from landmarks that they were on the de la Vega ranch, and a moment later placed themselves near Don Diego's new horse paddocks.

Some time later the two men walked swiftly back to the group, then led them around the base of the hill to confront Don Diego and Señor Mendoza (Rojas stumbled a bit on the "Señor"), who were leading a mare out of one paddock with a rope around her neck. Izquierdo had loudly identified the mare as one belonging to his boss, Don Fernando. Then de Soto had immediately ordered the lancers to arrest the two men, so they had quickly surrounded them at gunpoint and tied their hands tightly to their saddles. Then de Soto had loudly and summarily pronounced the two men guilty of horse theft, and turned them over to the other armed men, who turned out to be gathering conscripts and convicts for the Army. As soon as those others had taken custody, pointing their guns at the pair, de Soto ordered the lancers to stand down and ride back to the pueblo, and they left at once, de Soto falling out partway back – to ride by his own hacienda, Don Alejandro realized.

As he knew it had been, the whole thing was a setup, Don Alejandro realized, and stunk to high heaven. Even the Sergeant knew it – he could tell by the way the man wouldn't look him in the eyes. "Manuel," he said, too softly for it to carry to the lancers at the next table. "This was wrong, and you know it. It was illegal. And I am going to set it right, but I need your help."

That brought Rojas' eyes up to meet his, fearfully. "I cannot go against my superior," he began, but Don Alejandro waved him off kindly.

"I know that, and I am not asking you to. All I need you to do is simply write down what you have just told me, exactly as it happened. And then sign it, and give it to me. That's all. Just a simple report of what happened this morning." He waited, and at last Rojas nodded agreement.

Don Alejandro thanked him, shook his hand, and rejoined Miguel at the bar. At that moment, the clerk arrived with the copy of de Soto's version of the report. Don Alejandro made certain the alcalde had signed it, then folded it and put it in his pocket with a grim expression. He didn't need to read it, knowing it would be full of self-aggrandizing lies. He already had the truth.

* * *

At last, Victoria knew she had no choice. She couldn't simply stay out there on her horse for the rest of her life, no matter how much she longed to hide from reality. But it wouldn't let her go.

She gathered up the reins and turned Balada's head around towards the spring just behind the crest of the hill, waving her two shadows up to water their horses, as well. She ignored them, though, as she dismounted, took out a clean handkerchief and wet it, then wiped her tear-streaked face, holding the cool damp cloth over her eyes for a minute to try to clear them.

Then she remounted, accepting the lift from the cupped hands of one of the men that time, silently nodded at them both, and turned Balada towards the distant hacienda.

* * *

Don Fernando and his man Izquierdo, whom Don Alejandro knew to be the don's head hostler, were both standing in front of the big white hacienda as de la Vega rode up and dismounted, tossing the reins to Miguel. They were checking out a pretty brown Andalusian mare with black stockings, running their hands over her haunches and legs; one of Don Fernando's own prized horses.

"Don Alejandro! Good afternoon, my friend!" Don Fernando called with an easy smile. "What brings you to my ranch?"

"Don Fernando," Don Alejandro replied pleasantly with a nod, but didn't answer the question directly. He turned to the other man, who had backed up a step, his face pale under his dark outdoorsman's tan. "Izquierdo," he added shortly, no other greeting, before plunging directly in. "Is that the horse you accused my son of stealing this morning?"


	14. Chapter 14

_**Chapter Fourteen**_

"Stolen?" Don Fernando was astonished, and laughed. "Estrellita wasn't stolen, she got loose from her paddock yesterday afternoon and ran off! Simon found her this morning near Pine Bay and brought her back just now!"

"Is that what he told you?" Don Alejandro asked his old friend pleasantly, not taking his eyes off Izquierdo. "That is not what he told the alcalde. He accused my son and my foreman, Mendoza, of stealing her."

"What? You are serious?" All the laughter was suddenly gone from Don Fernando's voice. He turned to the third man. "What is going on here, Simon?" Izquierdo said nothing, his eyes darting between the two dons. "Where did you find Estrellita, Simon?" his boss pressed.

"On Don Alejandro's ranch," Izquierdo finally admitted, his voice low. "In the new horse paddocks, with Don Diego and Señor Mendoza. – I accused no one!" he interjected suddenly, desperation now showing.

"Yet you just happened to be there, along with the alcalde and some lancers?" asked de la Vega.

"We were looking for her!"

"Since when does the alcalde and a full troop of lancers go looking for a lost horse?" Don Alejandro asked, deceptively mild, then his voice turned hard again. "You were not looking. You _knew_ she was there in Diego's paddocks – you led de Soto there! And the two of you waited and watched from a distance until Diego put the rope on Estrellita's neck to lead her home before you rode in to claim her! You knew she was there – because you put her there yourself last night, didn't you?"

Izquierdo shook his head, but said nothing, his eyes desperate. He convinced no one.

Suddenly Don Fernando broke in, harshly. "Is that what you and de Soto were discussing the other day in the pueblo? Were you setting all this up then? Was he telling you what to do, or was it your idea?"

"What?" from Don Alejandro.

Don Fernando nodded to his old friend. "I saw the two of them talking beside the cantina, three days ago." He turned back to Izquierdo. "And I saw money change hands! You claimed it was a small debt, repayment for drinks you bought, but I never believed _that!_ How much did he give you?"

Don Alejandro had never struck a man in his life, but he was close to it now. He was in a towering rage. He took two quick steps towards the hostler before he was able to stop himself, holding his hands – fists clenched in spite of himself – close to his sides. _"How much did you get for my son's life, Judas?"_ came rasping out in a voice he barely recognized as his own.

Izquierdo was staring at the ground, visibly trembling – but he didn't move, didn't speak.

"Turn out your pockets!" ordered his boss, who then reached over anyway and pulled a leather purse out of the motionless man's pocket. Opening it, he looked inside, then dumped several coins into his other hand before turning to Don Alejandro, nearly mute with outrage. "Thirty pesos. In silver," he managed to get out. "I should have you horsewhipped!' he said again to his hostler.

"No!" from Don Alejandro.

"You are right," said the other man, all righteous hidalgo. "It is your privilege."

Don Alejandro shook his head. "I have never whipped a man, and I never will. But it won't help my son anyway – or Jaime."

"Yes," Don Fernando quickly agreed. "We must get them out of the alcalde's jail, at once. You will come with us and help!"

"They are not in the alcalde's jail, amigo!" Don Alejandro snapped. "They are on their way south to the Army! They have been sentenced to five years as convict soldiers!"

"_What?"_ his friend cried out. "A _caballero_? Sentenced to _that_? I do not believe it." He shook his head, then breathed heavily for a moment, trying to calm himself. "What will you do? What _can_ you do?"

"I will get his sentence overturned. No," he waved a hand dismissively before the other could say a word, "De Soto will never relent. I will have to go over his head, to the Governor." He turned back to Izquierdo once more. "And for that, I will require your written, signed confession. Signed before witnesses – several of them. You will write it today, and tell the truth. Not what you think I want to hear. Not what de Soto would want you to write. The _truth_, every word, every detail, of the past few days, until the entire story of your part in this wicked plot is told. Comprende?"

Izquierdo nodded, the picture of misery. "Si, Patrón. Comprendo."

Dismissing the man with a disgusted snort, Don Alejandro turned to his friend. "It would also help me immensely, mi amigo, if you too could write a letter, detailing everything you know about the situation, including the lies he told you yesterday and today. And sign it, too, before witnesses – not your family, but others, who could swear in court to it."

Don Fernando nodded. "I will do so today, mi amigo. I am deeply ashamed that this has happened, and that my ranch and my man was part of it. You will have both documents in the morning. I will send them with a _trusted_ messenger." That last was definitely a dig at his hostler.

"After that," Don Alejandro said tiredly, "I do not care what happens to him." He took a deep breath, forcing his mind forward. "But I must ask you for one other thing, as well, mi amigo."

"Anything."

"I cannot do this by mail," he admitted. "I am going to have to travel to Mexico City, to see the Governor and ask his assistance, in person. Which means that, with Diego gone, I am leaving my ranch in the hands of my daughter-in-law." He held up a hand as the other drew in a quick breath. "I have complete confidence in Victoria. I have been training her these many months; she knows how to run the ranch. And she ran the cantina all by herself for many years after her father died, don't forget. But... what I must ask is on her behalf. If she should come to you while I am away, for advice or assistance – "

"I will help her, no question, with anything I can do," Don Fernando broke in. "And I will treat her fairly, do not worry. She will not lose a single peso because of me or my advice. Your ranch will be waiting for you intact when you return, my old friend."

Don Alejandro reached out to shake the other man's hand gratefully. "Thank you, mi amigo."

* * *

Riding up at last to the hacienda, Victoria sat on Balada for a moment, utterly drained. One of the men got down and helped her to dismount, and she nodded slightly in appreciation, all she could manage; then he took Balada's reins and led her to the barn with his own horse. When she entered the front door, however, there was the household staff to comfort. Apparently they had heard the news already; Belinda, the young housemaid, was near hysterics. Her aunt Maria Luisa, the cook, however, was made of sterner stuff. After Victoria nodded confirmation of the situation, Maria Luisa shushed Belinda's wailing harshly, then took Victoria's arm.

"You are exhausted, Doña Victoria. And you have a little one to think of now. Go and lie down for a while before dinner. I will call you when El Patrón returns."

* * *

Don Alejandro and the ever-patient Miguel took a long arcing route home, north of the pueblo. He visited half a dozen haciendas along the way, spreading the news of the morning's events, and asking each of the caballeros for their assistance to Victoria, should she need it during his absence. Each don, startled and outraged at the alcalde's sordid machinations, gave his solemn word of honor, with his doña looking on and nodding.

When at last he entered his own hacienda again, weary and heartsick, it was nearing evening. He found Victoria sitting in her habitual chair on one long side of their elegant dining room table, unmoving, her back ramrod straight, staring with tortured eyes across at Diego's empty seat. All three of their places had been set, he noticed, with bowls of cold soup, Maria Luisa's planned first course, already served.

He took a breath, and the slight noise startled Victoria out of her awful reverie. With a gasp, she jerked her head around to see him standing in the doorway, then frantically peered beyond him to the hall. Its looming emptiness sucked all the air out of her lungs, and she wilted slightly. "I had let myself hope..." her whisper trailed off as she looked again at his eyes, her own tragic.

He shook his head, then held out his arms to her. "My daughter..." With another gasp, she flung herself out of the chair and into his arms, and he gathered her close, both of them sobbing. A moment later, he pulled back to look at her, and shook his head again. "I have known men like those who hold him now," he began. "Hard as flint, and as quick to violence as rattlesnakes. It would take an entire army to attack them – and even then, it would fail. They would kill their own captives before letting them be rescued." He let that sink in for a moment. "I am not an army, nor do I have one. Nor am I Zorro, and never was."

"Diego was Zorro," she replied, her voice breaking. "Why couldn't _he_ break free?"

"He had no chance to, querida," Don Alejandro answered softly, before describing what he had learned from Sergeant Rojas. "He and Jaime were surrounded before they knew it, with a dozen guns pointed at them from close range, and then they were tied up securely. He had no chance," he repeated. "He had no sword, no pistol – he has never gone armed. Even if he had been, there was no time. De Soto laid his trap well and sprang it shut..." He stopped before the bitterness overwhelmed him.

"But..." Her despair was close to overwhelming _her._ "We can't just _sit_ here! We've got to do _something!"_

"We will," he assured her. "I already have a plan."

"_What?"_ she nearly wailed.

He managed a kind smile, and patted her back before releasing her. "Come sit down, and I will tell you over dinner." He had to nearly force her back around the table, then held her chair.

Maria Luisa was there in the doorway as he sat himself in his own seat at the far end of the table. "Maria Luisa," he said, waving a hand at Diego's place setting. "Take that away." He didn't want to see it.

But Victoria wasn't having that. "Maria Luisa," she countermanded sharply, "you will set his place for every meal." Then she softened slightly. "But do not waste food," she added simply.

The cook glanced at Don Alejandro, who gave a short nod of acquiescence, then she bobbed Victoria a slight curtsy as she picked up Diego's bowl of soup. "Si, Patrona."


	15. Chapter 15

_**Chapter Fifteen**_

The problem was that, although the de la Vegas were rich in land and cattle, with a large, well-built hacienda filled with fine furnishings, and a growing herd of valuable Andalusian horses, they were quite simply cash poor. Don Alejandro knew it was going to take a lot of money to make his journey, even if he stayed with friends in Mexico City as he planned to do. "Travel is expensive, no matter what method. And there will be bribes to pay," he sighed, "even though I despise the system. It is how things work. And if," he went on, "I have to go over the Governor's head as well, and travel to Madrid to see Ministers, or the King, I will need even more pesos." They had some on deposit in the bank in Mexico City, but he would need much more than that.

The prospect was daunting, but once more their circle of friends came through. Each of the caballeros within reach of Los Angeles purchased something; some cattle, a foal or mare, a few acres of land between their ranches, a valuable painting, jewelry, or other artwork brought from the old country. Don Orlando, their closest neighbor whose ranch's borders ran alongside theirs, helped out the most, purchasing a long strip of land that only moved that mutual border a few yards in most places, but put a bank draft for several thousand pesos, drawn on the same bank in Mexico City, in Don Alejandro's pocket. It also covered a few pieces of jewelry once belonging to Diego's mother, which Orlando gave proudly to his wife, Paciencia, hoping it would please her. She had been ill for many years with a wasting disease, and had little energy any more – although she sent word to Victoria promising any assistance she or her husband could offer. That couple had been one of the few to welcome Doña Victoria to their ranks without reservation, and she would always be grateful for it.

Don Alejandro spent several hours considering whether he should try to resell the scrubland he had recently picked up – a few hundred acres surrounding what they had privately named Felipe's Spring; the watering hole where the teenager had caught Toronado after the earthquake, before disappearing south into the unknown. When he asked Victoria, however, she immediately squashed it. "It doesn't feel right to sell it – any more than it did to sell the cantina. Besides, you didn't pay much for it, just a few pesos, and would only get the same in return. Not worth the effort." She bit her lip, then plunged on. "Perhaps I should sell the cantina now, though. It would certainly fetch more funds."

But _he_ had squashed _that_, telling her it still felt wrong. "Besides, the your cantina is the only reliable source of income we have at the moment, even if only small amounts each week. It would be cutting off our feet to sell it." Relieved, she merely nodded.

Nevertheless, after a busy week spent gathering documents, raising funds, and passing along last-minute instructions, Victoria accompanied her father-in-law on horseback down to the port along with several of their rancheros, and saw him aboard the merchant ship that would take him all the way down the coast. "I should reach my destination even before Diego reaches his," Don Alejandro said with satisfaction. "Hopefully I will be able to pluck him – and Jaime – out of the training camp, before they are assigned further on." Victoria smiled wanly, but wasn't able to respond beyond the sudden lump in her throat.

And then it was time. They stood together one last time on the dock, hugging each other fiercely. She wanted to cry out for him not to go, not to leave her in charge like this, not to leave her all alone... Instead, she drew back and gave him a determined smile. "Vaya con Dios, Tio Alejo," was all she said.

He smiled lovingly back. "You haven't called me that in years," was his reply. He leaned over to kiss her forehead. "Don't worry, my daughter. Everything will be fine. I have _every_ confidence in you. You can do this, easily. And I will be home – with Diego – before you know it." Wanting to end on a casual note, he glanced at the clear blue sky as he withdrew his arms. "I hope the rains come soon. They are late this year, and we need them, after this dry summer."

Victoria could only nod. If she tried to speak, she knew she'd break down. Instead, she kissed his cheek, then watched as he strode up the gangplank and took a position on deck, waving. The sailors pulled in the gangplank quickly, then ran to weigh anchor and release the ropes tying the ship to the dock. She remained where she was, tall and proud, waving back to Don Alejandro as the ship slowly drifted off, caught the offshore wind in its sails, and picked up speed towards the mouth of the bay.

She watched it shrink into the distance, tacking around the headland and finally disappearing, and still she did not move, staring out to the gap long after it was empty. She felt the full weight of her situation descend upon her shoulders, as though she were Atlas holding up the ranch, while fighting once more against the panic and despair that had engulfed her constantly ever since Diego had been arrested. _I can't do this! I'm only twenty-eight! Diego, Diego, where are you? What are you doing? Will I never see you again? Will I have to raise our child by myself? Tio Alejo, will I see __you__ again? Papa..._ her distraught, chaotic thoughts turned to her own father. _I wish you were here._

But of course, he wasn't. Nor were either of the others. She was all alone, facing the unknown future, carrying that future in her belly. Tears snuck down her cheeks as she tried desperately to find the courage to go on.

She heard a muttering behind her, and knew their – _her_ – rancheros were getting antsy, wondering why she was still standing there. She needed to move, to take her place. To take command.

She pulled out her handkerchief and surreptitiously wiped her face, sniffing hard to clear her nose.

_I will be here!_ Her own voice came to her, making that solemn promise to her beloved husband as he was being hauled roughly away in chains. _We will be here!_ Her hands went again to her belly, smoothing her skirt above the precious life growing within. Diego's child – and hers. The future. And it was up to her to ensure that future. To hold the Rancho de la Vega for the men in her family: Tio Alejo, Diego – even Jaime. Until _all_ of them were safely home once more. And for the child.

Taking a deep, steadying breath – and then another, Doña Victoria slowly turned on her heel and paced sedately back down the dock to the waiting men, holding her head proudly, steadily high. Without a word, she allowed one of them to cup his hands for her foot and lift her into her saddle.

And then she turned Balada's head, and La Patrona led them home.


	16. Chapter 16 - Part Two

_**Author's Note: **I am breaking my habit and posting a single chapter so that I can add this note. I am currently swamped on the job, working very long hours, so my writing has slowed to a few paragraphs a day. It will continue for the next couple of weeks before returning to normal, but take heart: I WILL be back! I have never left a story unfinished before, and I am not ABOUT to start with Victoria's! I know exactly what will happen; it's just a matter of writing and polishing it. See you in 3-4 weeks with another set of chapters. _

_I also want to take a minute to thank everyone who has posted a review. Fanfic has changed their website from a few years ago, so I can no longer reply individually, so will do it here. THANK YOU so very very much! Each review brightens my day, week, and gives me motivation to continue. Please do keep it up! Even if you are reading this years from now, do take a minute to review your favorite stories - not just mine. They still reach most authors, and help new readers find good stories. Thank you again!_

_Regards, Lilac_

* * *

_**Part Two: La Patrona**_

_**Chapter Sixteen**_

_Six Months Later_

She was standing stock still near the gate of the largest new paddock behind the barn, right hand upturned before her waist, holding several balls of half-cooked, sticky grains sweetened with honey, her left hand hanging limp by her side. She had been there for ten minutes, an indulgent smile playing on her lips, not moving another muscle except her eyes, while Fuego pranced and snorted, several yards away. One of the ranch cats, an orange tom, silently supervised operations from atop a nearby sunny fencepost.

The only known offspring of Zorro's steed Toronado, who had disappeared along with Felipe, Fuego was a handsome dark bay stallion, now four years old. He had been the pride, and the prime stud, of Diego's fledgling Andalusian stables, and had only ever been half-tamed to bridle and saddle. Diego himself had ridden Fuego a number of times – warily – when the colt had grown big enough to carry his large frame, but more recently, the stallion had been largely left to please himself in his huge paddock in the foothills along with the mares selected to carry his foals.

With little cash, and without Diego's vision to guide operations, Victoria had been forced to slowly curtail the stables; not completely shutting it down, but slowing the pace. Several of the mares and foals had been sold to surrounding landowners – although not the best, and certainly not Fuego. _That_ step she refused to take; Fuego was the last remaining link to the heady days of Zorro's adventures. Diego had long since cleaned out the hidden tunnel under the hacienda, burning nearly everything incriminating, and hiding the silver sword only he knew where. She herself had snatched up one of his silk masks and hidden it away in her dresser drawer – she could claim Zorro had given it to her early on, if it were ever discovered.

To better protect the valuable horseflesh, and to keep a closer eye on things, she had ordered the rancheros to build a few corrals and paddocks running up the low hill behind the big barn beside the hacienda, and moved Fuego and his small remaining herd there. And then set herself the task of taming the half-wild stallion, slowly winning him to her with love and patience – and honeyed oats. Now eight months pregnant, she would not dream of mounting him – not till after the baby was born. But they weren't there yet, anyway. Juan Carlos, the foreman, had snorted at her stubborn "womanly" insistence in the matter; give _him_ a few days with the horse and Fuego would be tame as a kitten, he muttered. But she didn't want the magnificent stallion _broken_, she repeated several times before cutting Juan Carlos off sharply. She wanted his heart. Somehow the stallion had become a symbol to her, of so many things: longing for previous, simpler days; her missing husband and father-in-law; the seemingly insurmountable mountain of endless tasks involved in running the Rancho de la Vega; the even more insurmountable mountain of half-hidden public resistance to her doing just that. At least she had won the respect and support of her rancheros, as well as that of their closest neighbors, Don Orlando and Doña Paciencia. Although Don Alejandro's other friends had promised support, they had not quite been as generous and forthcoming as he had thought.

_No matter,_ she thought for the thousandth time, as she did a dozen times a day. _I will do this. I will survive, and thrive, and keep the ranch intact and profitable – simply because I must. I have no choice. I will be here. _

Two months previous, she had finally received the long-looked-for letter from Don Alejandro. He had failed in his attempts to persuade the Governor-General of Mexico to overturn Diego's and Jaime's convictions and free them from their pressed "service", let alone to recall de Soto or enact sanctions on the man, and had thereby been forced to take his quest across the sea to Old Spain and the king. That had been the occasion for the selling of half the stable denizens, to raise more funds for that extended journey. But it had been done, and he was on his way. Victoria prayed daily for good weather and smooth sailing – and a swift completion and return. It was all she could now do; struggling to keep from wondering where her missing husband and his friend were now, what they were doing, how they were coping. If they had survived. Whenever that coda crossed her mind, she quashed it ruthlessly and forced her mind to other business, ignoring the concomitant twinge of terror and looming grief.

Nor had she burdened Father with tales of troubles here at home in her return letter, writing only that everything was going smoothly. The promised yearly winter rains had not come, however, leaving whole valley parched and withered. She sent Juan Carlos out twice a week to check the many springs on the ranch that their cattle – and themselves – depended on. So far, they were holding, but the foreman's jaw got tighter, the lines in his forehead more deeply etched, each passing week with no rain.

With the drought, civil unrest in the pueblo continued to simmer, as food prices slowly rose and everyone – hidalgo and peasant alike – watched the clear western sky and worried. Victoria remembered Diego saying something, years before, about ocean currents in the vast Pacific off their coast, and how he believed they affected the weather on shore, and had been keeping careful records, conferring with ships' captains when they docked in the port about the location and strength of those currents. He had also been sharing that information with several of his correspondents on both continents. But Victoria had not been able to keep that up, not understanding any of the jargon being used when she had tried to read his records and letters. The best she could do was send a short response to each writer as one of their letters arrived: Don Diego de la Vega was away on a very long voyage, but please do continue writing, as he would read them all and reply on his expected return, whenever that would be. It was still the Age of Exploration, so such news was not _wholly_ inexplicable, even if no one had heard of his "intentions" beforehand.

Fuego stopped his prancing suddenly, coming to a stop directly in front of Victoria and flicking his tail as he eyed his daily visitor. With a final snort, having made his point as he saw it, he walked right up to her and began lipping the treats in her hand. She smiled ruefully at the stallion. "Showing me who's still boss around here?" she asked softly, bringing her other hand up slowly to caress his long forehead. "You don't need to. I'm well aware that it's you."

Treats gone, Fuego stretched out his neck slightly to sniff her extended belly. _Does he understand that I'm pregnant? _she wondered. _And that the child will someday be his master?_ For of that, she was certain, regardless of the baby's sex. _We will be here. _She lived by those words, which echoed constantly in the back of her mind.

If only she wasn't so lonely. During the day, she kept too busy to notice, but at night, alone in her broad marital bed... She constantly interacted with the household staff and the rancheros, but it wasn't the same as having a friend. Oh, she was still friends with both Merida, the shopkeeper's wife in town, and her kind neighbor Doña Paciencia, but rarely had the time to see either of them, let alone have any kind of extended visit – except the Sunday afternoons after Mass that she spent with the latter, eating dinner with her and Don Orlando. Those weekly visits were the only social interactions she had, feeling the coldness of the other doñas in the area when she had tried to be friendly at the start of her marriage. So the emotional support each might offer was also largely missing, not that Victoria thought in those terms. She just knew she was struck by loneliness, whenever she had a second to stop and think about it. Or at night, reaching a hand out to rest in the cold, empty space beside her, before she fell into exhausted slumber. Within the space of a week, an hour, her life had been completely upended, and she still struggled to cope with her new reality, so different from the vision she had painstakingly constructed for herself.

She had realized instantly, the first evening after Father's departure, that she could not _stand_ sitting all alone at their formal dining table, whether the other two places were set or not. So she had immediately picked up her plate and taken it to the kitchen, setting it down on the big wooden table that served all the staff. Maria Luisa had been scandalized at the breach of decorum, and negotiations begun in earnest. Finally, they had agreed: unless she had guests, Victoria would eat lunch and dinner with the staff, and Maria Luisa would cook _slightly_ better food for them all, rather than the two entirely different strata she had been used to providing.

One meal she didn't eat with the rest was breakfast. Victoria had developed the habit, which she simply loved and decided not to change, of lying in bed for an hour each morning, nibbling toast and sipping coffee from a tray Maria Luisa brought in with a flower and a smile, stroking the two cats who had adopted her and slept on her bed each night, and reading whatever she could find. The hacienda's library, small compared to some but astonishing for such a backwater as Los Angeles, yielded books on a range of topics from science to philosophy to history. Although she struggled to understand them at times, and wished heartily for someone to explain things the way Diego had done, she was trying to make up for her lack of education.

Her favorite thing to read, however, was Diego's correspondence – not just what others wrote to him, but the copies he had kept of his replies – at least the ones in Spanish, as she had never learned any of the handful of other languages her husband had picked up. She couldn't understand much of what was written there, either, but simply read his words, hearing them inside her head in his own beloved voice. Rather than haunting, it was her main source of comfort, bringing her absent husband near, as if he were hovering just behind her shoulder.

Victoria shook her head slightly to clear it of these reveries, and reached smoothly up with her now-empty right hand for the bridle hanging from her left shoulder, brought it down that arm, turned it, and slipped it onto Fuego's head. She had learned not to pause, giving him the opportunity to duck away, but neither did she try to move so swiftly that he didn't have the time to do so if he wanted.

Today was a good day. Having made his point earlier, Fuego stood still and let her slip the bit between his teeth and fasten the buckles. Then she gathered the reins and led him around the paddock once, just to prove she could, before leading him to one side and wrapping the reins once around the top rail. Then she picked up the curry brush, let him sniff it to make sure it was the same one, and began the process of brushing him down. Those peaceful minutes, letting her mind go blank, were on some days her salvation.

When she had worked all the way around and back to his nose again, she dropped the brush back into the bucket and lifted the saddle blanket from the top rail, let him inspect it as well, then draped it over his back. She had tied him just a bit too tightly for him to reach around and pull it off with his teeth, so he gave her a sideways horsey glare instead, flicking his ears in annoyance.

"You know the routine, Fuego," she said calmly, patting his neck. "I _am_ going to ride you – after the birth. Get used to the idea." She took a breath and caught his attention. Today was a bit different. A wooden saddle tree was waiting on the rail, and she lifted it, moving smoothly as always, and placed it gently over the blanket on his back. The fit needed to be verified before the rest of the new saddle was cut and sewn around it.

"Any gaps, or pinches?" Juan Carlos called softly from a short distance away where he was watching.

"No. It's perfect," Victoria replied. "Nothing to worry about; he is the same size as yours, just as you thought." She left the saddle tree on Fuego's back for a few more minutes, petting and praising his patience, before pulling it off and replacing it on the fence; the blanket joined it a moment later. Then she untied the reins, undid the bridle's buckles and pulled it off, and set the stallion loose once more. He very gently butted her side with his head, then trotted off, flicking his tail disdainfully, and she laughed at his back. "You're not fooling me, you know!"

"He could be ridden now," Juan Carlos said pointedly. "He could have been ridden months ago. Why this long, slow delay?"

"No one is going to ride him but me, or Diego," she calmly replied for the hundredth time. "And I am not going to ride any horse until after the baby is born. You know that. – Who is that coming?"

They had rounded the barn and were crossing the yard towards the hacienda, when she stopped and peered up the lane towards the pueblo. A wagon was being driven towards them, slowly so as to raise less dust. As it drew nearer, she saw who was riding on the high front seat, smiled and waved. "Don Orlando!" she cried. "What brings you here, and this way? You are usually a-horseback." She smiled at her northern neighbor, who grinned back as his driver pulled to a stop.

A tall, darkly handsome latino in his early forties, Orlando Valero was a third-generation Californio, the same as Diego. He wore his straight black hair a little long, just brushing his shoulders, and sported a full mustache beneath his startlingly blue eyes. Kind and generous, always ready to laugh, he had been married for more than ten years to his beloved wife, Paciencia; the childless couple living alone on their ranch just to the north of the de la Vegas. Both sets of parents had passed on, Orlando's younger brother had gone to sea and perished, while his sister had married a distant cousin in faraway Colombia and never returned.

"Doña Victoria," he announced grandly, standing up after the wagon stopped and stepping over the seat to the back, where a large something was covered by a tarp and ropes, "I have brought you a gift, from myself and Pacia, who sends it with all her love, and her regrets that she is too ill to come with me today and present it to you herself. Paco, get the ropes," he told his man, who slipped down hurriedly and began untying them. A moment later, Orlando flung back the tarp, revealing a grand, ornately-carved wooden cradle, the headboard reaching his chest. Made of California oak, it had obviously been lovingly – and thoroughly – polished, and glowed in the sun.

Victoria gasped. "Orlando, it's... it's beautiful! But you shouldn't have – it _must_ be a family heirloom!"

"Which is doing us no good, sadly. We would much rather that you, our dear friend, put it to good use, than have it sit gathering dust in our storage room and accusing Pacia every time she sees it." Hopping over the rear gate, he landed easily on the ground in his fancy leather boots and came to take both her hands in his, as Juan Carlos came silently to help Paco pull the cradle out of the wagon and carry it inside the hacienda.

She had seized on his last comment. "But it isn't her fault she became so sick!" Pacia had contracted consumption many years before, and had begun her long, slow decline. "I do _not_ believe that sickness is a sign of judgment – or God would never have struck Pacia. She is the kindest, sweetest woman I have ever known!"

This declaration brought a broad smile to the man's face. "I will tell her that you said so, Victoria; she will be tickled into protests." That brought a fond smile to Victoria's face; she knew he had pegged his wife's probable reaction precisely. He went on. "But the plain truth is that we are childless, and at this point it is evident that we will remain so. And I would rather see the cradle used and loved again, and by a family I respect. I insist."

At this, she had to drop her protests. The Valeros had been much too kind to her, their friendship to the de la Vegas of much too long and close a standing, to let them down. She nodded.

"In fact, I have something else to tell you," he went on. "I have been thinking about it for a long time, and have made my decision." His serious expression now, all laughter gone, gave her a twinge of worry. "I will wait until after your child is born, and then, regardless of its sex, I am going to write out my will, naming your child as my sole heir – after Pacia. He – or she – will inherit my ranch."

Victoria was dumbfounded. _This_ was perhaps the _last_ thing she expected. "But... Orlando, no. That is _too_ much!"

He shook his head determinedly. "No. I would much rather have my family's holdings go to the child of a family I have known and respected my entire life, than to one of my sister's brats in Colombia, whom I have never seen, whose parents I find... distasteful – and who most likely would never even journey here to see them, but sell them through an agent – and God only knows who would buy them then. At least this way, I will _know_ who will own the ranch after I am gone, and will manage it well."

"But you are still young – you may yet have children of your own!" She well knew the brutal local gossip: if Pacia died soon, as she probably would, and he then followed customary practice, he would marry again to a younger, fertile woman, and restart all his family possibilities.

"And if I do, then I can rewrite the will. But until then, I want it settled, this way. Pacia agrees with me. You, and your child, are the only people we know whom we wish to do this for. Besides," he smiled warmly down at her, "perhaps this way you will even allow us to have more time with the child, perhaps even influence him a little. Or her."

"More than a little!" she replied stoutly. "I've been meaning to ask you both," she took a breath, to give what followed a bit more weight, "if you would be the baby's godparents." She smiled at his surprised reaction. "I can't think of anyone else I'd rather have, either. And I think... they will definitely need you," she added in a low voice.

A huge smile had spread across Orlando's face, and he gave her a small, elegant bow. "I would be _most_ honored, Doña Victoria. And Pacia will be _thrilled._ I accept, for both of us." Giving her hands another squeeze, he added, "that's all settled then. No more arguing!"

With a laugh, she acquiesced. "No more arguing."

Letting go of one hand, he transferred the other to his elbow, laughing back, "then let's go see how well the cradle looks in your nursery! Pacia has tucked a number of other gifts inside it, as well."


	17. Chapter 17

_**Chapter Seventeen**_

Victoria laid back against her mound of fluffed pillows, her knees bent and propped up by two more, cradling her two-day-old son on her thighs and watching him sleep, full of wonder at this little miracle, this little piece of her missing husband.

Thankfully, there had been enough warning to send for the midwife, Maria Sanchez, as well as her friends Merida and Pacia – although the latter had sent back word that she was too weak to come, but had sent her personal maid to assist things. Maria had told Victoria afterward that the birth had gone very smoothly and even fast, especially for a first-time mother. Victoria had looked askance at that. She had no desire at that moment to repeat the previous eight hours.

"How do women ever get the courage to go through this again?" she wondered aloud.

Merida and Maria both laughed. "You forget," Merida said simply. She had borne four already herself. "Besides," she added ruefully, "what woman has the choice? You bear what children God sends."

"It is true," Maria added. "Months from now, you will remember this day, but only in your head. Your body will have forgotten all the pain and the mess, so you can face it again."

Victoria was still unconvinced, but at that moment the baby, now cleaned and swaddled, was brought to her by the new nursery maid, Sara. The niece of the housemaid Belinda (who herself was the niece of the cook Maria Luisa), Sara was fourteen, the eldest of five children – so she had _plenty_ of experience taking care of babies and small children. When Belinda had brought her around the month before, Victoria had hired her on the spot, as soon as she was certain they would get along together.

The tiny newborn now nestled in her arms and suckling his first meal at her breast, Victoria finally began to relax after her ordeal. Merida leaned over and gently tickled his cheek.

"Well, Mama?" she laughed. "What is to be the baby's name?"

"Paulo," Victoria said softly. "Paulo Alejandro, for his two grandfathers."

The other women exchanged a glance above her head. "Not Diego, for his father?"

"No." Her voice was soft, but firm. She glanced up at her friend. "That feels like tempting fate. Like I am... replacing him. Saying he will not be coming back." She shook her head. "Diego _will_ come home," she said firmly, brooking no opposition. "And his _next_ son will bear his name."

Now, two days later, Victoria was still certain of her choice. Her son would grow up to honor and respect all three men, whether they were present or not. As soon as the latter thought crossed her mind, she quashed it. She was getting good at that. If only she had received a letter from Diego! A short note, even a message! The silence from the south was as unnerving as anything else. But there hadn't been a single word.

She had written faithfully to him, every day at first, then every week – but the letters were piling up in a drawer, unsent, for the simple reason that she had no idea where to send them to. She had even asked Sergeant Rojas for help, but after a couple of weeks, he had only been able to give her the address for the army headquarters in Mexico City. She _had_ tried, sending an obsequious letter begging for an address for her husband, even including a rather bland note they could forward to him if they would, but had received only silence in reply. Before she tried again, she had gotten the letter from Don Alejandro outlining the furtherance of his quest across the sea. He had tried to get any information he could from the army himself, in person, and had gotten exactly nothing as well. All communication was impossible; Diego – and Jaime – were as vanished as Felipe.

A quiet knock came at the door, startling her out of her reverie. Belinda poked her head around it. "Are you ready for a visitor?" Since the three women of the household would have walked right in, this must be someone else. Victoria glanced around quickly and picked up her bed jacket laying nearby, slipping it on over her nightgown and decorously closing the front. She had brushed her hair out earlier; a quick running of her fingers through it made sure it was presentable. She nodded at Belinda, who opened the door wider, and Juan Carlos walked in, a little hesitantly, holding his hat in both hands.

"Juan Carlos!" she cried with real pleasure. "Come in, sit down!" As he walked towards the upholstered chair near the bed that she indicated, she saw him look askance at the baby on her lap, and laughed at him. "Don't worry, I won't make you hold him."

He hesitated, giving her a raised-brows appraisal, then grinned. "Thank you." As he settled in the chair, Victoria searched his face for fresh signs of worry. Nearly sixty years old, the stocky ranch foreman was only a couple of inches taller than her own short frame, with iron-grey hair he wore very short. Always clean-shaven, his hawk-like nose kept his weather-beaten face from being handsome, but his years in command of other hard-working men had given him an unmistakable aura of authority. He had worked for the de la Vegas his entire life, following in his father's footsteps; Juan Carlos Senior had come to California with Don Alejandro's father, Don Federico. If he now resented taking orders from a mere woman, he hid it well; she had never gotten a hint of it.

"I don't suppose there's been any rain the last two days," she sighed, and he shook his head with a rueful smile.

"If there had been, you would have heard it, even in here." He nodded towards the wide bedroom windows overlooking the flower and herb garden, then across the pastures to the brown hills beyond. Even from her bed she could see the land was parched, the few summer blossoms drooping anemically.

"How are the springs holding out?"

"All still good, although a couple of them," he named the two furthest up in the hills, "are slowing a little. And the river is still dropping; two more inches this week."

She frowned. Although the Rio de Los Angeles did not flow through their ranch, it provided some of the water for the pueblo. "Are the town wells, and the fountain in the plaza, still flowing?"

He nodded again, and she sighed in relief. Talk turned to other things: cattle counts and locations, the final tally of new calves for the year and of each sex, horse and ranchero conditions. When he had caught her up on all the ranch news, Juan Carlos nodded decisively and stood. But then he hesitated, and gestured towards little Paulo on her lap. "May I see?"

"Of course!" She tilted her lap towards the foreman in lieu of picking the baby up. He leaned over and peered at the baby, grimacing.

"Such a tiny little thing!"

Victoria laughed. "You were that little once too, when you were first born!" Then she sighed, misty as any new mother. "It's amazing, isn't it – one of God's miracles: that a big man like yourself – or Diego! – starts life as such a tiny scrap of human." She peeked up at him, impish. "You sure you don't want to hold him?"

He looked sourly sideways at her and she burst into giggles. Without a change of expression, Juan Carlos set his wide-brimmed hat decisively on his head, turned on his heel, and walked out the door.

Around lunchtime, Belinda announced other visitors, and to Victoria's delight and surprise, in walked Don Orlando and Doña Pacia, the latter clinging to her husband's arm as he helped her across the threshold.

Pacia had been startlingly beautiful years before, blonde with blue eyes – unusual for a Spaniard but not unheard of. Now reed-thin from the consumption, her skin as thin and white as paper, her hair thinning and brittle, she could still turn heads on the rare occasion of a stranger passing by. She came to Victoria's bedside and unabashedly threw back the covers, slipped off her shoes, and climbed right in beside her hostess, Orlando tucking the blankets back around her with a grin. The women shared a close hug, then Pacia picked up little Paulo and began admiring the baby with no hint of jealousy. Orlando placed a gallant kiss on Victoria's hand before he pulled the chair Juan Carlos had vacated closer to the bed and turned it so he could see the women's faces and be a part of the conversation. Thus began a wonderful long visit through lunch, as Maria Luisa brought trays for each of them. When Paulo got hungry, Orlando decorously went outside to give Fuego a treat while the infant suckled.

Only here, alone with her friend, did Victoria's mask of confidence slip. Pacia's head was resting tiredly on Victoria's shoulder as she watched Paulo nurse. Victoria leaned her own head on Pacia's and whispered, "I'm so afraid." Pacia's arm behind her friend's waist tightened a moment, but she said nothing, waiting. Victoria sniffled a little. "After Papa died, and I was running the cantina all by myself, I was terrified that I would never find a husband, never find my soul mate, that I would be alone and lonely my entire life. Now look at me. I found him, we married... and I'm alone again. Not even Tio Alejo is here. None of my family..." She stopped in the face of the impending flood of tears.

Pacia was silent for a moment, then whispered back, "I know. I know about fear. And I'm not going to sit here and give you empty reassurances, because none of us can see the future. All you can do... is just keep going anyway. Try to keep hope alive, while accepting what is." She thought for a minute. "Until you receive word that they are dead, then you must go on the assumption that they still live, each of them, and will return when they can. But until then," she squeezed Victoria's waist again, "you are _not_ alone, querida. You have many friends, both inside this house and out. I know we are a poor substitute for the love of your life, but still... we are here. And now you have this precious baby to live for." She fell silent. It had been a long speech for the woman wasting away before their eyes. Victoria turned her head to press a kiss against her friend's crown and stayed like that for a long time, tears trickling silently down her cheeks, although she would not allow a sob to escape.

Pacia's energy, always low due to her illness, began to visibly wane as the day trickled into the traditional siesta. Before she could get too exhausted, however, her attentive husband simply picked her up and carried her back out to their waiting carriage and took her home. A week later, they gathered again at the church in the pueblo for Paulo's christening, Orlando and Pacia standing at the font holding Paulo as his godparents. Only a few closest friends had been invited, so as not to prolong the event past Pacia's strength. As it was, her voice as she gave the traditional renouncing of the devil and all his works was soft, albeit those standing close to her could see her effort to keep it strong and steady. Once the ceremony was finished, and Paulo handed back into his mother's proud arms, Orlando once more swept his wife up and carried her to their carriage for the short journey home.

It would be the last time she ever left her house.


	18. Chapter 18

_**Chapter Eighteen**_

To no one's surprise, only a few weeks later the lovely and ethereal Doña Paciencia lost her long battle with consumption, passing away peacefully with both her husband, Don Orlando, and her best friend, Victoria, by her bedside. He had sent his carriage for her early in the afternoon when it had become evident that the end was near, and they sat, one on each side of the bed, holding her hands as she watched one final sunset from her pillows. Father Patricio had come earlier for her last confession, and was waiting downstairs.

"I am not fearful for myself," Pacia whispered to Victoria once when Orlando excused himself for a few minutes, escorting the priest to the parlor. "I am only worried about mi querido esposo. He will be all alone. You will look after him, won't you? Bring him back out into society? I do not want him to be alone," she fretted.

Victoria had gently scolded her for using precious energy on such a long speech, but Pacia had implored her until she gave her promise not to abandon Orlando.

The setting sun seemed to take her with itself, for she breathed her last, a long, quiet sigh, just as the glowing orb sank below the horizon. Orlando melted onto the cover in sobs, still holding onto his beloved wife's hand. Victoria, dripping silent tears, leaned over to press a final kiss on her friend's cooling forehead, and then slipped out of the room to give him privacy for this first desolate rush of grief. She had brought Sara and little Paulo along, not knowing how long she would be, and she found them in the parlor with the Padre and held her son close for comfort.

Orlando found her there an hour later, raising her hand and kissing it. He manage to thank her, which she brushed off, placing her other hand on his shoulder. "Will you be all right, Orlando? Do you wish me to stay for a few days, to help with the... the preparations?"

He gave her a sad smile and shook his head, then gestured towards Father Patricio. "No, mi amiga. The Father has the old women of the parish, and they will help my housekeeper with the duties." When she was certain he would survive, she took the carriage back to her own house, and her cold, lonely bed.

The funeral mass was held three days later in the little church in the pueblo, across the plaza from the Cantina Victoria. It was packed to the overflowing, mourners spilling out and filling half the plaza; Doña Pacia had been well loved, and her widower greatly respected.

After it was over, and the grave filled with dirt and flowers spread across, the crowd slowly filed past it to pay their respects, shaking Don Orlando's hand and murmuring the usual platitudes or heartfelt wishes, according to their bent. Victoria, as her friend, had remained near but not directly beside him throughout, and after the last person had walked slowly past, she turned towards him and took his hand.

"Would you like me to come out to the ranch with you for a while today?" she asked softly.

He glanced sideways quickly and shook his head, puzzling her. As he took her arm and turned her towards the plaza and her own waiting carriage, she realized they still had a number of observers, most of them women, "casually" hanging around the edges of the churchyard and talking softly with each other in between glances at the two of them. _Busybodies, _she thought, irritated. _Mind your own business! _

"Victoria – " he began, then cut himself off abruptly. He took a deep breath. "I think it would be better if we spent less time together. Now that my beloved Pacia is gone, we... it would be more seemly..."

Suddenly her anger flared, and she stopped, removed her arm from his easy hold, and turned to face him squarely. "Say what you mean, Orlando," she said sternly, keeping her voice down nevertheless.

He didn't answer, but his sideways glance said everything.

"Am I to lose you, too, for _propriety's_ sake?" She wanted to wail.

That stiffened Orlando's spine. "I will always be your friend," he told her with direct sincerity. "You can always come to me for anything."

"Anything but simple companionship," she flung back, furious.

"I will not be the reason for the ruin of my good friend's wife's reputation," he replied stiffly. "Of _your_ reputation," he added, not liking the formality or the distance the first declaration implied.

She wanted to scream, to argue, to throw things. But the look in his eyes told her plainly it would do no good. He wouldn't budge, and it would only drag her further down in the eyes of all those gossiping watchers.

"So no Sunday dinners after mass any more, either?" she asked bitterly. He didn't reply, which was answer in itself. Victoria nodded sharply, once, and turned towards her carriage, but he caught her arm.

"Victoria, wait. Please. I _am_ still your friend, even if you don't believe it, and _as_ your friend, I must say something else – even though you will hate me for it," he added, as bitter as she, but resolved. "There is also talk about you spending too much time with Juan Carlos. It would be wise for you to do less of that, as well."

At that she had to laugh. "Juan Carlos is my foreman – he is _Don Alejandro's _foreman. Of _course_ I spend time with him – talking about ranch business! If it wasn't him, it would be someone else – and they will talk about me no matter _who_ it is! Can't you see that? What am I to do, Orlando? Fire every man who works on the ranch and hire only women to take their place? Who?"

Miserable, he stayed silent.

She shook her head again, and repeated, "Those who talk about me will do so no matter _what_ I do, or _who_ I see, for _whatever_ reason. They always have, and they always will. It doesn't matter." Then she shook her head. "But I can see that it matters to you." She took a deep breath, not wanting to say it. "Good day, Don Orlando." The formality of it spoke volumes: it was goodbye.

She turned on her heel again and walked to her carriage, her head held high. Behind her, Orlando called, suddenly desperate now, "I will see you on Sunday, at mass..." She didn't answer.

* * *

But he didn't, because she didn't go to mass that Sunday. It was the first anniversary of Diego's arrest and conviction, and she marked it by saddling Fuego and riding him out onto the ranch for the first time, alone. She had been cautiously riding him around inside the corral or his larger paddock for the past few weeks as she recovered from childbirth, and felt they understood each other. Now, galloping with him across the plain, the wind streaming through her loosened hair, she felt free, leaving all her many troubles far behind.

The stallion was barely winded when she pulled him up atop a hill – the same one, she realized moments later, she had finally stopped on exactly one year before, running from the wagon carrying her beloved south. Slipping out of the saddle, she led him to the spring for a drink, splashing her own face as well, before using a nearby boulder to remount. As she turned his head back towards the distant hacienda, however, she once again caught movement at the edge of the trees and peered closely, her heart thumping for a moment until she recognized Juan Carlos.

_Why are you following me?_ She wanted to scream at him, suddenly furious. All she wanted was a few hours alone! Instead, she started Fuego at a run towards a nearby hill. _If you want to follow, you had better keep up!_ Glancing stealthily behind at intervals, she could see him a hundred yards or so back, as if on a tether. But the land was becoming broken – she was heading towards the small "badlands" of little canyons, arroyos, groves of trees, Tio Alejo's vineyards, and tangles of mesquite and tumbleweeds that had been Zorro's playground: hidden in the center was the arroyo leading to the tunnel under the hacienda. And having explored it with Diego during those months of open marriage, she knew it like the back of her hand. A sudden turn left, a dash right, around a patch of brush...

True enough, she had lost Juan Carlos within minutes, and she laughed aloud. Realizing it was the first time she'd felt so free and amused in twelve months, she laughed again, ignoring the forced edge that crept in.

Continuing her meandering ride through the badlands, she came out the other side half an hour later and turned to the hacienda and the stables. She turned Fuego into his paddock, gave him a quick rubdown and some oats, and let him loose, then walked around the corner of the barn towards the house, feeling triumphant for once.

And ran straight into a fuming Juan Carlos, his face black with anger., holding his hat in one hand and thrashing it repeatedly against his leg as if he'd like to spank _her_. "You foolish, _foolish_ woman! Are you trying to get yourself killed?" the foreman hissed at her, keeping his voice down to avoid attracting attention, she realized a beat later.

Suddenly all the anger of the morning was back, her blood rushing harsh and hot. "I'm a _good_ rider!" she hissed back at him. "And Fuego is a _perfect_ horse! He would _never_ throw me!"

"Even the _best_ riders can be thrown!" he shot back. "Even Don Federico, and he was the _best_ rider I have _ever_ seen, but _he_ was killed when his horse shied from a rattlesnake and he was thrown!" His voice had slipped into a shout, but he didn't ratchet it back. "_No_ one is immune from accident, Señora! _Any_ one can be thrown, _any_ horse can put a foot in a hole, or shy from a sudden snake, or bolt away from a sudden noise!"

"But I know this ranch – "

He cut her off. "And how will that help you, if you are lying at the bottom of an arroyo, no one knowing where you are? If the fall doesn't break your neck, it will break your leg, and you will die slowly, over days, because no one can find you!"

She took a breath, but he pushed on. "Nor is that the only danger! There are wild animals – bears, pumas – even our own bulls! And there are still many outlaws in California. They even cross this ranch at times – we see the signs they leave, tracks and campfires. And you carry no weapons – of _any_ kind! You would be an _easy_ target for them! I do not think I need to tell you what they would do to you!" His eyes were blazing, boring into hers as he outlined the dangers. "You are risking your own neck when you do such foolish things, and risking making your son an orphan! Is _that_ what you want? To kill yourself, and leave little Paulo all alone?"

She was stung. "And why is it any concern of yours?" she flung in his face, even though she knew the answer. He gave it, anyway.

"Because I gave my vow to Don Alejandro to look after you! To protect you! Because it is my duty to this ranch, and to the de la Vegas! And I will _not_ watch you throw it all away on a foolish, silly whim!" He took a deep breath, full of decision. "If you insist on riding alone, I will leave this ranch, and take a job on another, where I know I can do my job, without some foolish woman tossing it in my face!"

Juan Carlos jammed his hat on his head and turned to leave. "Juan Carlos, wait! Please stop!" Her voice cracked. He whipped back around, his eyes still ablaze, but she held up one hand for peace. He turned slowly back to face her but said nothing, waiting while she averted her face and took several deep breaths, her eyes closed, trying desperately to fight the tide of fury that had swamped her and calm herself down. He was right, and she knew it. She said as much when her voice was steady again.

"You're right, Juan Carlos. I'm sorry. I acted very foolishly, very stupidly, today, and I'm sorry. I just..." What? She didn't quite know. She took another deep breath and tried again. "I won't try to lose you again, I promise. I just... want to be able to go for a ride," she ended, a note of desolation creeping in. "If I don't run away, will you at least hang back a little bit? Give me the illusion of being alone?"

He nodded gravely. "I will hang back, Patrona. Thank you." It was his turn to take a breath. "Perhaps I should send someone else to ride with you, however."

"Why?" she was perplexed.

"To lessen the gossip?" It was a statement, not a question, even though the end rose.

"You too?" she nearly wailed. "Am I to lose _everyone?_" She shook her head. "It wouldn't lessen the gossip, Juan Carlos, it would increase it." Her lips curled sarcastically. "Put more men in my harem."

He actually chuckled at that, and suddenly the tension was gone. "As you wish, Patrona." This time she registered his use of the word, and her eyebrows shot skyward. He had always called Don Alejandro Patrón, but this was the first time he had used the title with her. He smiled. "Do you wish to ride out every day?"

She put the previous revelation aside and nodded. "Every morning, after I feed Paulo and put him down for his morning nap."

He touched his fingers to the broad brim of his hat, the first time he had saluted her, and turned towards the barn.

"Juan Carlos!" He turned back, eyebrows raised questioningly. "One more thing I must ask of you." She took a deep breath, really _not_ wanting to do this, but knowing she must. "Teach me to load and fire Don Alejandro's guns. And I will carry one of them with me, whenever I go out riding. One more bit of protection."


	19. Chapter 19

_**Chapter Nineteen**_

So Victoria settled into a new routine. She still lazed abed each morning, eating breakfast from her tray and playing Mama with Paulo, until he tired and wanted his morning nap. He was a remarkably easy baby who ate and slept well from the start, with no colicky fits of ceaseless crying – for which she gave thanks every day – and looked like he would start sleeping through the night soon. Once he was down, sleeping quietly under Sara's watchful eyes and rocking hand, Victoria saddled Fuego and headed into the country. They had a good long gallop along the smooth (safe) dirt road which looped around the ranch, Juan Carlos – true to his word – hanging back just within eyesight but not earshot; then she waved him up and they completed the rounds together, discussing the stock and the weather. The dry weather.

The winter rains still had not come, and it was well into December. The hot dry Santa Ana winds, which in normal years died out at the end of the fall season, continued their endless sweep across the desert and down into the valley, pushing all the moisture far out to sea along with clouds of dust. The drought – it was officially being called that now – was entering its third year, and everyone went about their days with hunched and worried expressions, watching springs, wells, and the increasingly trickling river with eagle eyes, discussing at length each portentous inch of drop in the water levels.

Victoria had begun sending a man down to the port every few days to ask each ship's captain for a written report on the Pacific currents – not that she understood any of it, but she was collecting them for Diego when he returned. He would be able to assess the information and add it to his theory, so she added each sheet – date, ship, and captain written on the corner – to the careful pile on his desk with a pang of mixed anticipation of his return and terror at his continued absence that sent a shiver down her spine.

After her morning ride, Victoria ate dinner – the main meal of the day – in the kitchen with the women and whichever rancheros were around, laughing and talking. More time spent playing with Paulo into the siesta, which she spent while he was napping working on the ranch books, or those from the cantina, or sewing clothes for herself or her son. She was constantly amazed at how her life had changed, revolving around this tiny scrap of human and his own autocratic schedule. When Sara at last took him off to bed for the night after their communal light supper in the kitchen, lightly sleeping on her cot across the nursery from his cradle after rocking him to sleep, Victoria took her book or a pile of Diego's letters to her own bed. She was getting better, she thought, at understanding the contents. Although she still desperately missed his explanations – he had such an amazing way of clarifying even difficult concepts! – the repetition as she reread passages did seem to be having an effect. She didn't _think_ it was merely the words themselves becoming familiar, but that she was beginning to understand their meaning. But with no one else to discuss anything deeper than immediate concerns with, all she could do was continue her solitary pursuit.

She only went into town every fortnight or so, slipping into a late Sunday afternoon mass (NOT the morning mass that Don Orlando habituated), catching up with Tonio about the cantina, and doing bits of ranch business, but speaking with few others, still stung by their continuing gossip. Aside from the constant worry about the weather, the pueblo was quiet these days, without any civil unrest like in previous years. Her old enemy de Soto was kept as busy as all the other landowners these days, just trying to keep his cattle and crops alive – and without any experience at it, and having to do much of the hard labor himself since most of his rancheros had quit early on. The few times she glimpsed him in the pueblo, he was increasingly haggard and unkempt. She wondered briefly about the state of his mental health, but then shrugged, uncaring, so long as he didn't stir up trouble.

De Soto still clung to his position and title of Alcalde – he had been appointed to it by the crown, after all – but had largely left the actual running of the pueblo to the Council of Dons, and that of the garrison to Teniente Vargas. The lieutenant had been sent from army headquarters in Mexico City, along with a few rank-and-file replacements for the lancers, the previous summer, and had quickly gained the respect of the pueblo's inhabitants for his kindness and professionalism. Rumor had him shocked at the state of things, but he always covered it well, and simply did his best to correct matters and run the garrison as it should be, working with the Council, providing protection to everyone regardless of their status, and dealing with de Soto's irrational orders and demands as best he could.

* * *

One day in mid-January the moment Victoria and Juan Carlos had been dreading arrived. On their usual morning ride, they came across what had been a productive spring providing cool, fresh water for several dozen head of cattle. Its level had been dropping the previous months, but now it was completely dry, the muddy apron baking to hard clay in the relentless sunshine. Juan Carlos sighed and gazed around. No cattle were visible nearby; they had begun shifting themselves to other springs, but he made a note to direct the rancheros to help them along.

They rode on in silence for a while before Victoria asked him how many other sources they had left. "Enough, although more may fail if the rains continue to hold off. We will be all right for the time being, but if we lose much more water we will have to begin making tough decisions, like we did back during the last long drought."

That last drought, she already knew, had occurred several decades earlier, when the Rancho de la Vega was under the control of Don Alejandro's father, Don Federico, with Juan Carlos Senior at his side (and teenage Junior at _his)_. Alejandro had been living in the old country at the time along with his lovely new young wife, working for his father-in-law, before she had died in childbirth and Alejandro returned with his infant son, Diego. Victoria winced away the thought of the other, unknown baby spirited away, returning to haunt and torture her husband and father-in-law only a few years ago: Gilberto Resendo. She had never heard him mentioned by anyone else, however; apparently the two men had kept his true identity to themselves after his tragic death.

She shook her head of the memories, returning to their present troubles. "What kind of decisions?"

He glanced at her aside. "Whatever animals cannot be watered, will have to be gotten rid of. Some can be sold – an early spring drive south to market – but many will have to be simply slaughtered, before more die of thirst. We will have to keep a very careful eye out, to make sure whatever cattle – and horses, and people – we have get enough water to live, and slaughter whatever we must to make sure."

"How dire did the situation get back then? Which springs or wells did you end up with?"

He told her: only the well at the house and the closest, big spring were left.

"What about Felipe's Spring – the one hidden near Pardon Rocks south of the ranch? Did it still flow?"

"I don't know. It wasn't on our property – no one owned it until Don Alejandro bought that land a few years ago. I don't think anyone knew of that spring or used it back then."

They rode in silence for a few minutes. "Juan Carlos..." she began thoughtfully. "If that should happen again, and we are left with only the big spring and our well, how many head of cattle could we support on them alone?"

"We were down to just two hundred head that time, and had to rebuild from them. It took many years. I wouldn't want to try it with many more than that now – the spring is the same size as it was."

She nodded. They had nearly two thousand head now, including the yearlings that would be driven south to market in a few months. If things got that bad, it would mean a tremendous effort, with more slaughter and bloodshed than she wanted to contemplate. But she was a realist.

An idea had been growing in her mind, however. As they topped out the last low ridge before descending to the hacienda, she pulled Fuego to a halt, Juan Carlos reining in beside her.

"Juan Carlos," she finally turned to him. "I have an idea. A different way to handle things. But I don't think you're going to like it very much. It could either save us, or be a disaster." She held up a hand against the doubtful curiosity in his eyes. "We don't have to – we won't – put it into action for some time yet – not unless more springs fail. Hear me out, and think about it, then tell me what you think."

She took a deep breath. "If more springs fail, and things begin to look that dire... I want you to select whatever men you want, however many you need, whoever you think would be a good choice. Then divide up the cattle. Leave us two hundred head. Then you and the men will take the rest and drive them north, up through the canyons and into the big valley, and keep them there until the drought is over. It isn't as bad up there, we know it. There's still water and grass, and very few people living down in this end. They're all further north, near Sacramento. We will put together a full wagonload of food and supplies for you to take with you and live on."

"But where will we keep the cattle?" he broke in. "There is no ranch up there that I know of."

"No. You will have to just keep riding herd on them, slowly moving them around on the grass. One long trail ride, until the drought is over here, and you can bring them back."

"But how will we know when it is over?"

She smiled. She'd thought of that. "Take one extra man with you. When you reach the far end of the canyon, select a specific spot, and send that man back with the location. I will send him to meet you – or one of your men that you send – at that spot, say every three months. We'll make it the first day of each third month after you leave. When the drought is over and it is safe to bring the cattle back, he will bring that message."

"And supplies? Whatever we can take would only last a few months."

"And supplies, yes. He will bring another full wagon of them, and you can simply trade wagons each time." She took another breath. "I know it will be very dangerous, and very risky, and you might not succeed very well. You will inevitably lose cattle – to theft, to death from many things. You will slaughter one once in a while yourself to eat. You may need or decide to sell some. You may lose some men, too – to death or desertion." She paused, shaking her head to stop the dread recitation of possibilities. "You will face many dangers. And you may not come back with very many cattle, especially if it goes on for two or three more years. You may not come back with any at all." _You__ may not come back at all_ hung in the air unspoken. She turned and looked straight at him, earnestly. "But every head you _do_ come back with will be one more that we didn't have, that we wouldn't have otherwise, that we can use to begin rebuilding the ranch. Just as Don Federico did."

He thought for some time, staring out across the brown, seared landscape as he pulled on his lower lip. "It is a big thing you would ask me to do. A huge responsibility." He glanced sideways at her. "How do you know I would not simply take them all up north and sell them, and not return?"

She smiled. "You might do that. And not many would blame you. Not even me. I am gambling on your honor." She took a deep breath. "But I believe in that honor. I believe in _you_, Juan Carlos. I know you have served the de la Vegas your whole life. I believe you will continue to do so. But..." she held up a hand again. "I am not insulting your honor when I say this. I believe you would do this and return without any thought of reward. But if this is successful, I _will_ see to it that you _are_ rewarded, properly and handsomely. The de la Vegas always remember who their friends are. They never suffer for it." This was true. Even Juan Carlos' own father had retired to a generous stipend and his own plot of land, a gift from Don Alejandro, when he himself decided the time was right to leave his son in charge.

Then she shrugged. "Besides. If you did _not_ go, and we lost them all anyway, we would be worse off. It is a gamble worth taking, as far as I can see."

He thought some more, then suddenly began to grin. "It is a bold gamble, Patrona, one worthy of old Don Federico himself." Stories were still told about Diego's grandfather, one of the first Spaniards in California after the mission priests and soldiers, who had carved out his ranch and laid the foundations for the pueblo of Los Angeles with his own hands. His bravery and fortitude were legendary.

Then he went on. "But I don't think we need to go that far yet."

"Not yet," she agreed. "Let's keep it in our back pockets. But..." She made one final decision. "If two more springs fail, then we will do it, before it gets any worse. Agreed?"

"Agreed, Patrona" he replied. He held out his hand, and they shook on it.


	20. Chapter 20

_**Chapter Twenty**_

Several weeks later in late spring, as Victoria was walking out to saddle Fuego for her morning ride, Juan Carlos met her in the yard with a white, fiercely-controlled face. She knew what he was about to say. "Another spring has failed?" He nodded tersely, his black eyes hard on hers. She took a deep breath. "Then this is what we were waiting for." She drew herself up to full height and stared back at him. "Start selecting your men."

His mouth twitched, and he reached into a pocket and pulled out two folded pieces of paper, handing the to her without a word. Brows flaring, she unfolded them and began to read. The first was a list of rancheros. She saw several names crossed out; evidently he had been working on it for some time, considering and reconsidering.

"I couldn't decide whether it would be better to take all unmarried men, so they would be able to concentrate on the job, or married ones, so they would be fixed on returning eventually," he told her, a bit apologetically. "In the end, I thought a mix would be best."

She laughed, letting him off the hook. "I don't think we have enough of either to take just one kind." She did a quick count. Just over half the ranch's men were on the list. She nodded, accepting it without question. He knew who he could rely on.

She turned to the second page, which turned out to be a long list of supplies. Before she could ask, he broke in again, grinning at her confusion. "It's the same supplies we take on the road for the spring cattle drive," he said, then shoved a finger at a name on the first page. "And old Estéban is the best trail cook in the valley. Everyone smiles when it is our turn to head the spring drive." The ranches around Los Angeles always pooled their yearlings and a few hands from each ranch for the yearly cattle drive, taking those yearlings for slaughter down the coast to the cities, and took turns leading it. The de la Vega's last turn had been four years before. Juan Carlos' experience as the head trail boss on several such drives (the dons never went) had been one of the reasons for her confidence in him for this job. This year's drive had been sent off under Don Pedro only two weeks earlier, and Victoria had hoped the thinning of their herds would have lessened the pressure on their water supplies. It did, but without rains to replenish the water table, it was not enough, and she knew it as well as anyone else. She _had_ lived her entire life in Los Angeles, surrounded by the many large ranches, after all. Glancing quickly at the list of men again, she saw that most of them were experienced trail hands. No wonder he had chosen greenlings to send on the drive. She grinned to herself, but didn't mention it, going back to the supplies.

"Then I'll keep this list and send the same things every three months?" she made it a query, and he nodded, adding, "Unless I send word for something different, yes."

"All right," she nodded, then bit her lips. "I need to ask you something, though – a small change. If you are willing," she added quickly. He cocked his head, brows knitted quizzically. "Don Orlando has been our good friend for many years. I am going to ride to his hacienda today, to tell him what we plan, and ask if he would care to send any cattle – with or without men – along as well. I do not want to save ourselves, but leave him in trouble." She looked up at her foreman. "How many head of our cattle will you take?" He gave her the number, minus the two hundred he was leaving behind. "And how many more could you absorb from Don Orlando's herds?"

He thought. "Without any of his men to help, another three hundred. With men, two hundred for each man. But..." He stopped, unwilling to go on, but she told him to speak plainly. "With men from two ranches, there might be trouble."

She knew what he meant. "I would tell Don Orlando to make certain every man he sends would understand that _you_, and _only_ you, are the jefe, in charge of everything. There will be no arguments."

"He will have to hurry."

"I know. But it can't be helped." She thought a moment. "Have you mentioned this to any of the men?"

"No. And, Patrona..." She looked at him encouragingly. "I think it would be best if we both announced the plan together, and to everyone, staying or going. That way there are no wild rumors."

She nodded. "We'll do it this evening, after supper. Spread the word that everyone is to come. But I want to keep knowledge of our plan within the ranch until you are gone." She took a deep breath, and pushed the metaphorical button. "Tomorrow, you begin preparing the men and horses, then start rounding up the herds. I'll gather the supplies." She looked straight at him. "Ride out in three days."

He nodded grimly.

* * *

She was surprised that none of the other ranch owners sent any of their herds out of the danger zone, but none of them did. Even Don Orlando only sent the three hundred head Juan Carlos had said he could absorb, but none of his men. Instead, gossip showed, the other dons all laughed at the foolish woman, the ingenue, going to all that ridiculous, expensive trouble for nothing. Juan Carlos would not even come back, they said; instead, he would sell the cattle up north and pocket the money, or use them to start his own ranch up in the big valley. She ignored the talk, as always. She trusted Juan Carlos. He would return. And if the idea had been _that_ unwarranted, he would have told her.

After all the men and cattle rode north, Victoria's life constricted even further. She was amazed at times how deeply she became involved with little Paulo, how constantly he could claim her attention. His first birthday passed during the spring, and he could already walk – for short distances – on his chubby, churning little legs, causing her or Sara to have to run after him, and his babbling was resembling real words more and more. It wouldn't be long before he was really talking. She began taking him in the saddle with her on very short, slow rides around the hacienda, switching back to calm, smooth Balada for the purpose. When she was certain he was steady, and could stay in the saddle by himself, she would teach him to ride. She also made sure to read to him every day, pulling out Felipe's picture books with only a small pang, and sending away for more books for beginning readers.

With the infant turning into a little human, Don Orlando began visiting the ranch occasionally to spend time with his godson, who would inherit his ranch. He always stayed to dinner when Victoria asked – and she always did – the three of them eating together in the formal dining room (she insisted on not banishing her son elsewhere; he would learn proper table manners as soon as he could hold his own spoon) until Paulo went for his afternoon nap, at which time Orlando scrupulously returned home to avoid (as much as possible) providing gossip fodder. Their friendship thus cautiously resurrected, they talked and laughed about every subject, and Victoria felt a part of her come to life again. She had missed the long conversations with Diego and Don Alejandro, and even the ones from further back in her cantina – even if the latter were more profane, common, and usually slightly drunk.

Yet she did still keep close tabs on conditions in the pueblo and surrounding area. The continuing drought kept lowering the water table, until finally the river that ran through the town gave up the ghost, becoming a trickle before stopping completely. When the spring that fed the fountain in the plaza between cantina and garrison failed, too, she knew she had to take action. The wells dotting the town would not water everyone.

She ordered all the water barrels the ranch held to be lashed onto a wagon, filling the bed, and drove it to Felipe's Spring, praying it still flowed. It was, pure and clear and sweet, and she took a long drink herself before she and her men set about filling the barrels from it. It was a difficult, complicated process, involving a bucket line between spring and wagon.

"Geraldo," she called to the cleverest man still on the ranch, missing Juan Carlos as much as she was Diego. "This is never going to work for long. Do you understand how Diego's water screw works?" Many years before, her husband had taken an ancient concept and built one himself, placing it at the spring near their vegetable gardens and using it to water the long rows of plants.

Geraldo nodded tentatively. "I think so, Patrona."

"Good. I need you to disassemble it, only as far as you need to to move it down here, then put it back together, so we can use it to fill the barrels more quickly. Get whoever you need to help you with it."

He was confused. "But... how will we water the gardens?"

"By hand." She shook her head, waving his objections down with her hands. "I know, I _know_. It will make that a much longer, harder job. Two men will have to do it. Conjure up something with a little wagon or wheelbarrow and a water barrel to make it easier. But we cannot afford to waste the water on dirt any more, either – not in this drought. We must water the _plants_, not the _ground._ Do it." He nodded.

With a sharp tone, she then made certain he understood, as did everyone else, that Felipe's Spring was to be kept as pristine as possible, limiting human and animal access to only this one small quadrant and leaving the meadow untrampled. Although the grassy nook was as brown and brittle as the rest of the valley, she was determined it should have all possible chances to recover its former green beauty once the drought was over.

"Patrona?" another man called. "Once word of this spring gets out – once we begin taking water into the pueblo – you will need to guard it. Thirsty people get desperate."

Victoria nodded again, sadly. She'd seen many such riots and difficulties from the cantina porch over the years. Before she could ask, two of her men volunteered to take turns guarding the precious resource, trading off each day. She smiled at them, proud of her men. They might need a little help understanding what needed to be done, but once they did, they all stepped up.

That began her daily trips into the plaza, rationing water out to all who had no access to a well. She nearly caused a riot the first day, until they understood she was _giving_ it away, not _selling_ it, as de Soto was attempting to do on the other side of the fountain with his own wagon of barrels. She had ignored him completely as always, until he stalked over and yelled at her, trying to order her as Alcalde to cease and desist – she was ruining his business.

Victoria had merely stared flatly at her despised enemy, saying nothing, until he turned away, his cheeks red with anger and humiliation. When her water ran out, a few people were forced to purchase some from his wagon, but she had already formed a plan.

The next day was a regular, weekly meeting of the Council of Dons. She had officially been invited to attend on Don Alejandro's behalf after his departure on his quest, but had done so only once. The burning humiliation of having been completely ignored and talked over whenever she opened her mouth was not one she was willing to expose herself to repeatedly, and had not had sufficient reason to brave those stuffy old men. Now she did.

The next morning she rode Fuego over to Don Orlando's hacienda, whose turn it was to host the meeting; her new temporary foreman, Paco, riding along beside. She stalked into the meeting in Orlando's richly-appointed dining room with its long, polished oak table well after the meeting had begun, her head held high as they all turned to gape at her. She noticed Ignacio de Soto along one side of the table, smirking at her, but ignored him as always as she greeted the host and nodded to several others, including Teniente Vargas, observing from a seat along the wall having already given his usual report.

"Señores," she began, not waiting for an invitation to speak, "I have come on an urgent matter. I do not need to tell any of you how dire our water situation is; you are as aware of it as I am. One-third of the springs in the valley have failed, all the others are giving less volume than before. The river has died. Some wells are failing, those which are not deep enough to reach the water."

Someone drew breath, but she plowed ahead. She was standing tall at one end of the table, Don Orlando at her shoulder. "If the people of Los Angeles are to survive the drought, we – all of us here around this table, the landowners – we _must_ help them. People need water to survive. Those of us with good, reliable springs or other sources _must_ deliver water into the pueblo. The wells in town cannot provide enough water for the entire pueblo. We _must_ help," she said again.

"Why?" This blunt query was from Don Jose, the oldest and most autocratic of the landowners, with his sprawling, rich ranch in the northern foothills. _He_ was in no danger of suffering from the drought. He went on dismissively, "why should we help them? Peasants and fools. They deserve their fate." To her horror, she saw many others around the table nod agreement.

"Would you prefer a town full of dead people?" she asked as pleasantly as she could manage. "You may not care personally, but it will not do your ranch any good. We have developed far past the days when each of us was completely self-sufficient. Our ranches depend on the people in the pueblo to buy our beef, our wheat, other products, and to supply the labor we all need, and the things we cannot grow or create ourselves. We _need_ those peasants, Don Jose." She silently blessed Diego once more, for his lessons to her on economics and how the region was bound together.

"If God wanted them to prosper, he would have made it so," another murmured – she couldn't see who.

"And so you ignore the commandments to love thy neighbor, and give charity to the poor. Jesus himself said, 'the poor shall always be with you', and underscored the need for charity. How is not giving thirsty people water – water which costs you _nothing_ other than paying a man to transport it to town – living up to God's holy commandments? I think you will have a harder time reaching heaven, if your greed and stinginess prevents you from doing your share to _keep people alive_ during these terrible times." She shut her mouth with a snap, afraid she had gone too far with those last words. Several of those sitting around the table shifted uncomfortably.

Don Orlando, bless him, stepped up beside her. "Doña Victoria is correct. It is our duty to help. My wagon will begin deliveries tomorrow in the plaza, Señora." He bowed courteously, then turned to the table at large. "And they will be _giving_ the water to any in need, not _selling_ it by the pitcher, Don Ignacio," he added pointedly, staring down the length at de Soto. "The poorest cannot afford to buy water for very long. By selling it only, you are merely prolonging their deaths of thirst." A final glare at the Alcalde, who said nothing, then he glanced around the table. "Who else will help us keep the townspeople alive?"

Victoria could have kissed him then, if it wouldn't have simply been gossip fodder. After an endless few seconds, one don after another nodded. It took a few weeks, but finally, most of the others also began providing water from their springs to the surrounding area, not just Los Angeles. A paltry few holdouts – Don Jose and Ignacio de Soto included – never did come around, but enough did to keep everyone alive. She had won. The pueblo would survive.


	21. Chapter 21

_**Chapter Twenty-One**_

_Mansión Flores  
Plaza de Olavida  
Madrid, España_

_Señora Victoria de la Vega  
Hacienda de la Vega  
Pueblo de Los Angeles  
California, Nueva España_

_My dearest Victoria:_

_SUCCESS! As I write this, I am holding in my other hand two pieces of paper, both on royal parchment, with the king's own signature, his imprint, and his privy seal. The first declares that Don Diego de la Vega was wrongly convicted and sentenced, that he is innocent of all charges, that his conviction is overturned, and he is ordered released from service in the Army of New Spain effective upon receipt of this letter. The second repeats the first, for Jaime Mendoza._

_This part is done. My son, your husband, will soon be free, and returning home._

_I will not bore you here with the details of my long quest; how many people I spoke to, how many miles I traveled, how many palms I greased. I will instead bore both of you with it in all the years to come, sitting in my chair before the fire, and you will roll your eyes at each other and change the subject. _

_I must tell you, I was also given a purse of coins, as "a small recompense to Don Diego for his humiliation and travail." It struck me most forcefully that this is offered to my son, but not Jaime, but I only smiled and thanked the official who handed it to me. Diego will be most happy to share it with his friend, nor will he argue if I use some of the coins in the next phase._

_For it is not yet over. Now I must return to Mexico City and the headquarters of the Army of New Spain, give them these papers, and force the officers there to cough up their whereabouts. When I was there last year, no one could seem to tell me even what battalion they had been assigned to. It seems the records from the training camp they would have been processed through were destroyed in a fire after they left. But this time, with the force of a royal order behind me, they will have no choice but to find them._

_Diego's cousin Miguel Flores (son of my late wife's brother, you remember) has been most amazingly helpful, opening his home to me, providing me with a horse and a man (to bolster my gravitas), and using his contacts in the royal court (as all mine are decades out of date) to put me in contact with the proper ministers – and now, securing my passage for the return voyage. Our family owes his a great debt._

_But do not worry about money, my dear. Between Miguel's generosity, the purse for Diego, and what I have remaining, I have plenty of funds for my next moves, even if I must grease more palms, as distasteful as I find the practice. I will swallow my pride and pay, for Diego's sake. It is my greatest hope that I will return home before Christmas, with both of our prodigal sons in tow. _

_Please forgive the brevity of this letter, I am writing quickly to send it this evening. I leave for Cadiz in the morning, and my ship sails for the new world in three weeks. Stay strong, my dearest daughter. Keep believing in me, and in Diego, and know we will both be with you soon, and this nightmare will be over._

_With all my love from across the seas,  
Alejandro de la Vega_

* * *

Alone behind a closed door, sitting at Diego's desk in his study, Victoria pulled Don Alejandro's letter out of her pocket and read it again, unconsciously holding the locket with Diego's precious curl inside with her other hand. She had read the important parts of the letter aloud to a cheering cantina that afternoon just after receiving it, and again at the hacienda to the women and rancheros. Now, with no witnesses, she read it again very slowly, concentrating on every word and doing her best to read between the lines, letting each thought and feeling sweep through and be identified so they would not waylay her over the next few days when she least expected it.

It had been sent over six months before; she would never know where or why it had been delayed on its way. Tio Alejo would have made landfall on the east coast of Mexico long before. Perhaps he and Diego – and Jaime – were already on their way north! Her eyes sank closed as a wave of longing swamped her. To see Diego again, to see his smile, hear his laugh, feel his strong arms around her. It had been nearly three years since he was taken. Some times, it felt like forever; others, just yesterday.

Opening her eyes again, they fell on Alejandro's third paragraph. What _had_ he been going through? It wasn't like him to complain, even so obliquely. And he had been gone for _such_ a long time. It should not have taken _this _long to set it all right, should it? She shrugged; how could she know? She would find out Alejandro's travails on his return.

She read again his final words. _Stay strong. Believe in me, and Diego._ The words blurred in her vision as tears began in earnest. _I'm trying, Father. It's just so hard!_ She held the letter in one hand, holding the back of the other hand against her mouth to stifle her sobs so they would not be heard beyond the door. Because there it was. As hard as she fought every day, every hour, to keep believing in Diego's return, she knew she was fighting a losing battle with the despair that lurked just behind her shoulder.

For Diego was born and bred an aristo. As strong as he was, as clever, as talented... he was meant to ride horses, not march for endless miles with a heavy pack on his back. He was meant to dance with a sword, disarming and humiliating his opponents, not firing a gun and killing men – not even his enemies, merely poor fools who happened to be lined up on the other side. Diego was _never_ meant to be a soldier. She knew very well the life expectancy of ordinary foot soldiers, let alone convicts. Hard labor, rotten food, brutal discipline... it broke more men than survived it. The army chewed men up and spit them out; tougher, rougher men than her husband – even though she felt like a traitor just by _thinking_ that. She could only hope and pray that the spirit, the bravery, the determination that had fired his time as Zorro would see him through this present nightmare and keep him alive long enough to come home.

She spared a thought then for Jaime Mendoza. He had been through something like that before, but it had been twenty years and at least fifty pounds ago. She couldn't imagine the big, genial teddy bear, friends with everyone, surviving as a convict soldier, either. A vision danced in her mind, of Jaime standing on the other side of the bar from her, one arm draped around Felipe's shoulders, grinning as he ordered a beer and lunch for the two of them.

To be honest, when she was alone, and the ever-present despair threatened to overwhelm her, she didn't see how either of them could survive the war.

_Stay strong. Believe in me, and in Diego._

What choice did she have? She was Diego's wife, and Paulo's mother. She would raise her son to remember and honor his father, as well as both his grandfathers. She already told Paulo stories every night, about each of them, so he would grow up with a sense of who they had been, and who he was. And she was La Patrona, mistress of the Rancho de la Vega, with so many people depending on her – even if many of them were currently up north with Juan Carlos.

Carefully refolding the letter, she tucked it back into her pocket, where she would carry it until Alejandro came home. She had brought a glass of water in with her; now she pulled out her handkerchief and wet it in the glass, then used it to wipe her face, and held the cool, damp cloth to her eyes for several minutes until every trace of weeping had been erased. Then she stood, opened the door, and walked out into the hacienda with her head held high, her manner calm and collected, her tread measured. She was La Patrona, She would let no one down.


	22. Chapter 22

_**Chapter Twenty-Two**_

So the long dusty weeks dragged on, summer slowly – officially, anyway – turning into fall. Victoria and the other dons kept up their daily deliveries of water to the pueblo as the wells and springs continued to slowly die, strangling the area. The other ranchers began slaughtering their extra cattle, the ones they could not spare water for, beginning to think now that it was far too late that perhaps Doña Victoria had had the right idea after all. But they still didn't believe Juan Carlos would return, with or without the de la Vega cattle.

One day in mid-September in the plaza, Victoria happened to glance up from the barrel she was carefully emptying into pitchers and buckets, and spied Tonio, her cantina manager, standing in shadows in the alley beside the tall building, speaking earnestly with none other than the Alcalde, Ignacio de Soto. She waved one of her men to take over and stepped aside, watching intently. The two men traded several more exchanges, friendly as could be, then shook hands – and Victoria swore she saw a coin pouch pass from de Soto to Tonio! That man stuffed it furtively into a deep pocket as the white-haired de Soto turned and walked down the alley, then Tonio glanced around, missing Victoria's stare, and stepped onto the porch to disappear inside the cantina.

Fuming – what on _Earth_ was he _doing?_ – Victoria managed to quell her temper long enough to finish the water distribution, then waved the men and wagon out of town and turned to the cantina, determined to get to the bottom of this immediately.

Tonio was standing behind the bar, wiping glasses; his mother was evidently cooking in the kitchen behind, from the sounds of it. Victoria wasted no time, walking up to the bar to demand, "What were you and de Soto talking about just now?"

He glanced at her sharply, and she could have sworn a guilty look crossed his face in a flash, but then he merely shrugged and denied everything. "I wasn't speaking with him."

"Yes, you were. I saw you, just now, in the alley. What were you talking about?"

He started backpedaling, shaking his head and spluttering a little. "N-nothing. The weather."

She cocked her head, keeping firm hold on her temper. "No, it wasn't," she replied as evenly as she could. "He gave you a bag of coins. Why? What for?"

Tonio denied the coins, but his manner had turned decidedly shifty.

"You are _lying_ to me, Tonio." Victoria's voice was getting louder, and a few patrons' heads turned in the crowded cantina. "What did he pay you for?" No answer. She took a stab: "Are you giving him information? About me?"

Still no reply. Suddenly she remembered; she hadn't looked closely at the cantina books in some months. Wordlessly, she walked swiftly around the bar and into the office, pulling the current book off the shelf above the desk and flipping it open to the last entries. Eyes goggling, she flipped back a few pages. She might not have Diego's education, but she had a good memory for numbers, and the totals she saw before her were _not_ what he had been reporting to her the past few weeks.

Taking the book back out to the main room with her, she slammed it down onto the bar in front of her manager. "You have been _stealing_ from me!" Suddenly the cantina was completely quiet, all eyes on the two of them.

"Stealing? Of course not!" he tried to bluster, but she wasn't having any of it.

"You have been telling me each week that we took in less money than we did, and pocketing the difference! Those numbers," she stabbed a finger at the book, "are _not_ what you've told me!"

Suddenly Tonio's face changed under his shaggy mop of hair to a flare of disgust. "That's ridiculous! You know nothing about business, woman! Go home to your baby where you belong! Leave business to the men!" Crossing his arms over his chest, he lifted his chin and looked down his nose at her.

Victoria's jaw dropped as she stared at this transformation. He had _never_ spoken to her in this manner before! She took a moment to recover, taking in the sudden silence in the cantina, movement as a couple of the men stood up – to see better or to help, she didn't know. Tonio's mother, Serafina, had come to the door of the kitchen, and was giving her the same supercilious glare as her son. Victoria shook her head slightly; she'd deal with _her_ later.

Deciding to ignore his outrageous attempt to deflect her, she stuck to the subject. "How much have you stolen from me, Tonio? How many pesos?"

Tonio didn't even answer, merely looked away with a huff.

Suddenly, from behind her shoulder, movement, and she glanced back to see that the new garrison lieutenant, Vargas, had risen from his seat and come to stand behind her. She hadn't even been aware of his presence in the cantina. Resting his hands casually on the hilt of his sword on one hip and his pistol on the other, he said mildly, "Answer the question, please, Señor."

Concern flickered briefly across Tonio's face, to be replaced by sarcastic arrogance. "Why? Are you going to arrest me?"

"If the owner of the cantina wishes to press charges, yes," came the calm reply. "Now answer the question."

Now Tonio was getting nervous. He still tried to toss it off. "You have no proof," he said to Victoria.

She rested a hand again on the ledger. "I will have it in an hour, as soon as I retrieve _my_ ledger from the hacienda and compare these figures. Did you forget that I keep my own set of books?" From the look on his face, he had. _"How much?"_

Tonio's eyes flicked back and forth between Victoria and Teniente Vargas several times, before he finally muttered, "Several hundred pesos. I don't know how much exactly."

"Several _hundred – " _she broke off, then looked away, crossed her arms and blew a breath out to calm down. "Where is it?" He looked confused, infuriating her further. "The money you have stolen, Tonio. _Where is it?_ Is it here?" she waved a hand at the bar. "Upstairs? Hidden somewhere else? Did you put it in the bank? _Where is it?"_

His eyes flicked back and forth between her and Vargas a few more times, then finally, with a aggravated huff, he bent down suddenly and rummaged swiftly among the bottles under the bar, coming up with a small lock box that he slapped down on the bar before Victoria, just short of insolent. She spun it around to see the lock, then held out her hand. "The key." Hesitating only a moment that time, he reached into a pants pocket and pulled out a ring of keys, then began sorting through them.

She knew those keys, though. "All of them, please. Those are the cantina keys," she clarified when he glanced up, surprised. "Do you have any others on it?" The answer was obviously no, as he simply tossed the ring to her, then crossed his arms again, trying without success to look unconcerned.

Swiftly locating the small key, Victoria opened the lock box, gasping at the pile of coins and bills. 'Several hundred' might have been an understatement, even if many of the coins were small ones. Slapping the lid closed again, she took another deep breath, until she could tell him simply, "You're fired. All of you. Get your things, and get out – you, your mother, and that woman, too." Without looking, she pointed towards the woman Tonio had hired a few weeks before, ostensibly to serve drinks, but Victoria knew she was doing her own business in one of the new rooms out back. She glanced then over to the woman, whose name she had purposely forgotten. "I'm sorry, this isn't against you personally, but you will not work for me. I will not have that in my cantina." The woman was as angry as the others, but smarter; glancing around, she sensed she was on the losing side, nodded stiffly and turned to the back door.

"Are you pressing charges?" Vargas broke in to ask.

She shook her head. "Not if they all leave, right now."

Vargas nodded, then looked back at Tonio. "Then go, Señor. Get your things and leave. Before I begin thinking about things such as vagrancy or trespassing, which do _not_ require a civil complaint."

Tonio stared a moment longer, looked like he was going to argue, then with a growl of disgust he whirled around and stalked towards the stairs to the rooms upstairs where he and his mother lived. Serafina, however, ignored his jerk of the head at her, staring at Victoria with outrage.

"How _dare_ you!" she cried, stepping forward to the bar. "My son was only trying to make a better life for himself – for both of us!"

Victoria barked an astonished laugh. "By _stealing_ it from me?" She shook her head. "If he had come to me with a plan, asking for my help, I would have _given_ it to him! I _know_ how hard it is to get ahead! But no, I will _not_ help someone who simply _takes_ what he wants!"

"And what have _you_ taken, chica? You with your airs, pretending to be what you are not! You are nothing but a jumped-up tavern girl!"

Victoria gasped, as did several of her patrons. "How _dare_ you, old woman?" she spat back, angered enough to use insults that she _never_ would. "I have _never_ pretended, and I have _never_ stolen a single centavo – not from _anyone!_"

"Except for the land you live on," someone muttered from the crowd. Victoria whirled around to seek the speaker – a middle-aged mestizo, Indio blood plain on his face. He looked around at everyone staring at him, straightened his back, and spoke a little louder. "_All_ the land around here used to belong to the Indios, until it was stolen from them."

It took Victoria a moment to recover. "Several generations ago," she acknowledged. "I had nothing to do with that, and I wouldn't know how to begin to make up for it – nor who to address." Dismissing him – although she would remember later – she turned back to Tonio's mother, and chopped a hand down to cut off the argument. "I'm done with you. You are fired. Get your things, and get out. And consider yourself lucky that I am allowing you to do that, and not be forced out with only the clothes you are wearing!"

Serafina was still angry enough to spit, but she had the sense finally – with a glance at Vargas – to realize she'd lost. With a disdainful sniff, she stalked over to the stairs and climbed them. Victoria, watching her pass, saw that the other woman had disappeared out the back doors, presumably to her own room to get her things.

Heaving an exasperated sigh, Victoria rubbed her temples, then walked around to behind the bar, picked up the box of money, and put it on the counter before her. She looked around at the two-dozen-or-so patrons, all standing or sitting silently, staring at her – but she could tell from their expressions they were all on her side. She had known most of them, especially the handful of lancers, for years. "Señores, one more round, on the house – and then, I'm sorry, but the cantina is closing, until I can figure out what to do." Craning her neck, she pointed out three men near the double doors leading to the patio, created during her renovations years before. "You three, would you do me a huge favor? Go and make sure no one is in any of the rooms in back, or on the patio, and lock all the doors as you come back in?" They nodded, and she tossed them the ring of keys.

The next few minutes she passed by refilling glasses with whisky or beer, the promised last round, as Vargas stood silently by. When Tonio came back down, his mother trailing after, everyone fell silent again. Tonio stopped by the bar. It seemed he had one last thing on his mind.

"One hundred of those pesos are mine," he said simply.

She goggled. "What?"

"They are from my salary. I was saving them. They are mine," he added stubbornly.

She shook her head. "Not any more, they aren't. Consider them the fine you are paying, to stay out of jail." When he didn't seem to catch on, she elaborated. "You can either give them to me, or go to jail for theft, and give all of it to the Alcalde. Either way, none of this money is yours to keep."

She hadn't thought before that he was this dim-witted. "You are leaving me broke?" he asked, outraged.

"You are not broke," she remembered. "You still have the money de Soto gave you this morning, whatever it was for. I don't care any more." She took a breath, standing tall. "Now go, and get out of town, before everyone knows what you have done."

"You are going to tell everyone?"

She barked another soft laugh. "I don't have to. They will." She tipped her head towards the watching crowd. "By sundown, everyone within a hundred miles will know you tried to steal from me. And no one will hire you. Not even de Soto – he does not like thieves who get caught."

Tonio and his mother both looked like they were going to argue further, but Teniente Vargas shifted his feet and cleared his throat, giving them a meaningful stare when they glanced his way. Without another word, both of them went out the front door and into the unknown. The woman – Candida, Victoria suddenly recalled, walked in from the back in their wake. She paused a second, catching Victoria's eyes, but then nodded and continued. She had been dismissed before, and knew that it was no use asking to stay.

"Wait a second," Victoria called after her, her heart touched. She opened the box and grabbed a half-dozen large coins. "Here." She handed them to Candida. "I don't want you to starve. But don't tell him you have them." Candida stared at her a moment, then with a quiet word of thanks, turned and walked out.

The three she had sent to lock up returned, and she took the keys, announcing the cantina's closing. Everyone shuffled out, placing their glasses kindly on the bar with a nod or a quiet word. Vargas waited until they were all gone, then stepped up to the bar.

"What will you do?" he asked simply.

She shook her head tiredly. "I don't know. The obvious thing would be to hire a new manager, but right now, I don't trust anyone."

He nodded. "I hope the cantina does not stay closed for too long." When she looked at him questioningly, he went on with a little smile. "It is a valuable part of the community. As are you, Señora."

Victoria was taken aback. She had hardly exchanged any words with him in the several months he had been in Los Angeles, although what she had heard about him was all positive. "Thank you, Teniente. I appreciate that," she replied quietly, meaning every word.

He tipped his head graciously. "If there is anything I can do for you, just let me know."

As he turned to leave, she had a sudden thought. "Actually, there is, Teniente." He turned back, and she grimaced. "If it wouldn't be too much trouble, I would appreciate it if you – and your men – could keep a close eye on the cantina, at least for a few days." A small pause, as she decided precisely how to say it. "I would hate for it to be broken into, or burned down, while it is closed." She wouldn't have thought Tonio capable of such revenge before, but she hadn't expected him to steal from her, either.

Vargas nodded understanding. "It is no problem at all, Doña Victoria. We will certainly keep an eye on it." That didn't seem to be quite enough. He glanced around, seeming to look through the walls to the pueblo outside. "I like this town. It is a good place, full of good people – mostly. It has its problems, but what place doesn't?" Looking back at her, he smiled. "But I think I would like to stay here, for a long time – perhaps even retire and stay."

"You have no home elsewhere? No family waiting for you?"

He shook his head, sadly. "No. I have been looking for a home. Perhaps I have found it here in Los Angeles." They shared a smile, and then he left.


	23. Chapter 23

_**Chapter Twenty-Three**_

Her admission to Vargas that she didn't trust anyone to manage the cantina had been an instinctive reaction, but true. Victoria wasn't going to entrust her family's business to a stranger again as she had Tonio, and no one that she _did_ know and trust was in need of a job. Although she racked her brains over the next two days, the only choice she could come up with was to take over the daily management again herself – and she might have kept it closed, except for Vargas' encouraging words about it being valued and integral to the town, and her own stark knowledge that the cantina was the only source of much-needed income they had at the time. With most of the cattle north in the big valley with Juan Carlos, there wasn't a whole lot for her to manage day-to-day on the ranch; her rancheros knew their jobs well and only needed a light hand to coordinate the reduced activities, even with the daily deliveries of water from Felipe's Spring to the plaza. When she asked for their input, one of them, Franco, volunteered that he would be interested and eager to help at the cantina, as well. And with little Paulo rapidly approaching his third birthday, she and Sara could incorporate his care along with many other tasks; he was reaching the age where he was happiest tagging along and "helping" the grownups.

So, she came up with a complicated but manageable schedule. The cantina's operating hours were reduced to ten-to-ten, and it was closed again on Mondays. Except on that day, she gave up her long, blissfully quiet mornings in bed and got up with the chickens, eating breakfast with the others in the kitchen. Then she, along with Sara and Paulo, rode into town in the ranch's one-horse cart, Balada hitched to the rear on a long lead, in time to meet their water wagon and help that distribution. Once that was done and the men sent off to their other tasks, the three of them busied themselves in the cantina kitchen.

That room was much larger than most people suspected. Victoria's father, Paulo, had designed it to be his family's main living area when he had built the cantina himself, when Victoria was just a baby. (Her mother had sadly died in childbirth the following year, nor had the baby survived, leaving Paulo alone with his two-year-old daughter to raise.) A very large oak table dominated the center of the room; straight-backed chairs were stacked against the wall out of the way unless needed. An equally massive wood-fired stove sat against the end wall, next to the door that led directly into the office in front. The far wall, away from the door into the cantina's public room, was taken up by a counter with open shelves both above and below, for its entire length, while the door onto the back patio was set into the fourth, end wall, next to a never-used ladder leading up into the main sleeping room (strictly for emergencies). A sink with pumped-in water – an innovation by a young Don Diego several years before – took up the corner between the latter two doors. It was a cheery, comfortable work room, which Victoria had thought of as "home" her entire life.

She now had neither time nor interest in serving any food to customers that required individual preparation, as Serafina had done, and returned to the cantina's old mainstays, which could be started in the morning and kept warm on the back of the stove all day: seasoned rice with crushed olives and almonds, beans with bits of salted pork or beef, stew from whatever was available, and a stack of tortillas. Sara proved adept at patting out a huge stack of the latter in no time, and Paulo happily patted out a few small, lumpy rounds of his own, which the women cooked and ate with him. Cooking a tortilla quickly on the stove just before serving it with a meal of the other items was enough individual preparation for Victoria.

Once the cantina opened for business, Victoria handled their customers by herself with the ease of lifelong practice; Sara's job was then "only" caring for Paulo, keeping him entertained, and teaching him what small children needed to learn. He had outgrown his morning nap, but still needed one each afternoon, so when he started winding down, Sara took him back home in the cart, usually passing Franco going the other way. He then took over at the bar, leaving Victoria to handle serving the afternoon/evening meals, their busiest time of day. She closed the kitchen at six pm, however, cleaned it up and put the next day's beans to soak, and rode home on Balada by seven, spending the evening after supper in the kitchen reading and telling stories to Paulo. After she had worked with Franco for a week and trusted him, he ran the bar by himself until closing, dropped the day's take into the safe for her to count and enter into the books the next morning, and wiped down the bar and tables before locking up and riding home. They had no worries about trouble Franco could not handle; there were always several off-duty lancers in the bar each evening, who had a vested interest in keeping the peace.

Mondays when the cantina was closed she divided between restocking the cantina, catching up on the books there and at home, and then relaxing, reading or sewing the rest of the day. Victoria was therefore kept busy from morning to night, but welcomed the endless routine, as it kept her from spending time worrying about Diego and the others, the drought, the situation in the pueblo, or all the other things she could do nothing about. Don Orlando formed the habit of coming in to the cantina around lunchtime once or twice a week, spending time with his godson, and occasionally taking him for rides out to his ranch. The gossips tried, but found nothing in his or Victoria's current behavior to latch onto, so soon turned to juicier subjects.

The money she had recovered from Tonio was mostly needed for back pay to their rancheros, as she had been forced, partly by his theft of their cash stream, to meet only part of those obligations recently. She also paid off a number of other bills which had slowly grown over the preceding months. The only new purchase she made was a curious one. She picked up ropes, pulleys, and a pile of brass rings from the ship's chandler at the port, and bought a dozen very long bolts of cloth in brilliant colors through Merida's husband, and, unearthing the plans from the cantina office, began working on Felipe's canopy for the patio. It seemed to her like a talisman and a penance; even a beacon, which might bring her four lost men home again: Felipe, Father, Jaime, and Diego. _Diego_...

* * *

One morning in early November found her manning the spigots on the water wagon, as usual. She wasn't really needed on the task, but she had learned with experience that there was less pushing and quarreling in line when she was there – and it gave her the chances she relished for some contact with the women in the community, catching up on gossip and finding out their actual situations. The water was nearly gone when one of her men gently grabbed her upper arms from behind, pulling her back out of the crowd and motioning another man in her place. Prepared to be angered or horrified, she glanced over her shoulder at him, only to see him grinning instead. Then he turned her sideways and pointed – and there, standing on the cantina porch...

…was Don Alejandro. He had returned at last, hitching a ride on a ranch wagon from the port.

Victoria gasped, her eyes darting swiftly all around, hoping to see Diego as well, but without the longed-for face anywhere. When they returned to Don Alejandro, he shook his head sadly, knowing what she was doing. Then he opened his arms wide, and she rushed into them, gasping once more against the tears, and they hugged each other tightly for several long minutes.

By the time they pulled back, a small crowd had gathered around to welcome him back and hear his news, so he spoke it a little louder than he might have wished. "The army cannot find them, Diego and Jaime. They still don't know where they are or what company they were assigned to," he said, watching Victoria's face but pitching his voice for the throng. "I have left my agent in charge of the search, but I knew I was needed back here."

A renewed shock of pain coursed through Victoria's heart, causing her to close her eyes and lean her head against Father's shoulder for a moment as he held her tightly again, then she nodded, pressing her lips tightly together, and stepped back to allow others to greet the elder de la Vega and shake his hand. He spent the day at the cantina, as he and his daughter-in-law caught each other up on everything that couldn't be said in the one or two letters they had managed to exchange, then he finally rode home that afternoon in the cart with Sara and his grandson. Paulo, once he had gotten over his natural shyness around this stranger, was soon chattering away at him non-stop. Alejandro was captivated, however; laughing with Victoria that "he'll soon calm down and we can get a word in edgewise."

That evening, after putting Paulo at last to bed, Victoria wandered out to find Alejandro sitting in 'his' chair before the fireplace, staring into the low flames. She halted involuntarily at the look on his face, then stepped to the sofa opposite and sat down. "Father..." she began. "What is it? You look so troubled." She thought she knew what it was, however, and took a quick breath before continuing. "I know I've done some drastic things around the ranch, but – "

He stopped her with a raised hand and a shake of the head. "You have done wonderfully, my dear. I would not have thought to send Juan Carlos away with the cattle, but I think you might have saved us. No, it's nothing you have done." He shrugged, then added in a low voice. "I am weary, Querida. So very weary." His voice trailed off, and he looked back to the fire with a sigh.

"Well, why don't you go on to bed?" she replied, puzzled. "Sleep as long as you want; you are home!"

But that wasn't what he meant. "I don't mean today, or from the journey. I am bone weary, of life, of struggling, of these troubles... of everything."

She waited a moment, still confused. "What do you mean?" she probed gently.

"So many things... things I saw on my journey. All tangled up. I hardly know where to begin."

She smiled at that. "Then why don't you pull the threads one by one and untangle them, like Diego used to do. You know it worked," she chided, and he had to smile back in remembrance. "One?" she prompted, eyebrows raised.

It took him a few seconds, but he finally began. "One. The bribery, that I mentioned in my letter from Madrid." He shook his head. "I'm not a fool, or a novice. I know perfectly well that is how business has been done in Spain for... forever. But it is different now. Before..." He paused a moment, gathering his thoughts. "When I lived in Spain before, when Diego was born, one took a small gift with them to present as a matter of course. A bottle of very good wine, perhaps, or... a box of cigars... a crate of oranges or almonds from Valencia... a fancy bridle for a favorite horse... that sort of thing. The kind of gift two good friends would exchange. And it was expected, and treated just like that – as a gift. But now..." His face darkened. "Now, it must be ten, fifteen times more. And not in gifts. Now everyone expects cash money. If you showed up at a minister's office to do business with a bottle of wine, even a case of it, you would be laughed at outright and shown into the street." Now that he had gotten going, the words flowed swiftly. "And there are ten times as many men to pay, as well. Every time you turn around, there is someone with their hand out. And you _have_ to pay them, in order to get to the _next_ man you must pay, and the next, and the next, until _finally_ you find the right one, the one who can actually approve what you are seeking to do."

He stopped again, looking for the words to sum it all up. "We Spaniards have always been a proud race – too proud, often. And yes, there has _always_ been an element of bribery, to get things done. But this... this isn't bribery. It is long past gifts. This is _corruption_, Victoria; naked, daily corruption, and it stinks to high heaven. The whole city of Madrid reeks of it. And the feeling that it left... I felt filthy at the end of every day, even if – _especially _if – I had made no progress, which was most days. Yet every day, I had to pay, and pay, and pay; and every day, no matter how long I soaked in a hot bath at the end of it, I still went to bed feeling filthy." He shook his head again with a long, disgusted sigh.

Victoria waited a beat, then prompted again, "Two?"

She didn't net a smile that time, but he acknowledged the change with a tiny snort and nod. "Two..." Still he paused for a long time, and she wasn't certain whether he was sorting things out or unwilling to say it aloud. "Two is the inequality I witnessed. The unfairness, of everything." He waved a hand dismissively. "And no, this isn't new, either, but it, too, has gotten _so_ much worse over time." Another pause. "I told you in my letter, I think," he nodded, "how I had to _insist_ that they write a second order for Jaime. They weren't going to, otherwise. And the one they wrote for Diego... Victoria, he was not declared innocent, and the conviction overturned, based on the _facts_. Not one person ever even _looked_ at the documents I had taken with me, the statements from the witnesses. No one cared. The minister who made the decision, who had the documents written and put before the king for his signature, did so _solely_ based on who Diego is – a Don, and the son of a Don, from an old family of ministers and civil servants loyal to the crown. That's it. As for Jaime – he is a mestizo, and was drummed out of the army before. No one cared that _that_ situation had _nothing_ to do with his being framed along with Diego. They said to my face that he must have been guilty because of it, and only wrote his order to humor me, and to get me on my way."

Another long pause. "As I said, the Spaniards have always been a proud race, and considered themselves above every one else – especially Indios, or those of mixed blood. And I suppose..." He shrugged. "Perhaps this hasn't actually gotten worse, it is only that I hadn't seen it so clearly until now. But now that I do..." A nod this time. "It _does_ bother me, _very_ greatly. It isn't right."

Victoria nodded, and told him of the man in the cantina who mentioned their land having been stolen from the native inhabitants. He nodded agreement in return. "This is true. My grandfather, and father, were the first holders of grants here, the first to arrive after the mission priests and soldiers. So perhaps it is no worse now, but perhaps only different." He thought for a moment. "But I do not know how I could correct that old, historic wrong, if I would. But that is why I let that tribe live on my land up in the hills for nothing."

She was surprised. "The Supashwi? I didn't know you owned that land."

He nodded. "It's part of the original land grant, all the way back to the ridge above the village. I stop my operations where my father did, at the creek below. At least if I keep title to that tract, no one else can come along to push them off as their ancestors were. It's a small thing, but..."

"Not to them," she pointed out. "Nor to me." Then she backtracked. "Nor is your insistence on gaining Jaime's freedom a small thing. Tio Alejo..." She paused then, gathering her thoughts, and he smiled at the use of her old nickname for him. "I don't know if it's worse now, either. But the only thing we can do, I think, as individuals, is to _act_ as individuals. As Father Patricio says: clean up our own garden. Make sure that _we_ treat everyone well. And we do that. You, especially, do that."

"So do you, Victoria," he replied, then shook his head. "But sometimes, like now... it doesn't feel like enough. It's such a pitiful thing, against the whole breadth of the Empire."

He fell silent again as she nodded understanding. After a moment, it was time to move on. "Three?"

He glanced at her and smiled again, snorting softly at the nudge. "Three..." He thought a long moment. "The third thing that is troubling me," he began again, trying to frame it properly, "is the sheer chaos and instability of the government and the Empire. It's been going on for decades now, and never seems to get better. First we have our own king, Fernando, then Napoleon put his brother on the throne, then we overthrew him with the help of the English and put Fernando back on – "

"He is still king now, isn't he, though?"

"Yes, for many years now, but it hasn't stopped the turmoil. You see, Victoria, he has never been able to settle on a style of government. One year, _this_ set of ministers is supreme, and the government is a liberal one, with a written constitution – and then without warning, the king changes his mind and installs another set of ministers, and a harsh, autocratic, personal rule again, tearing up the constitution and reinstituting strict laws. And the next year, it changes back again. One never knows from one day to the next who is in charge other than the king, or whether what one wishes to do is legal or not, or who he needs to seek permission from – or rather bribe – to do it. One never knows if it is safe to speak one's mind – actually, it _never_ is, because if you agree with the current government, you won't the next, and _someone_ who heard you speak out _will_ inform on you." He waved a hand again. "It is _chaos._"

Don Alejandro gave her a sharp look, then leaned forward so he could speak in an even lower voice, although everyone else in the hacienda had long gone to bed. "I know you know of the rebellion that has been simmering south of us in New Spain – in Mexico. But did you know there have been rebellions on and off in _every other _region and colony in the New World?" She shook her head, and he lowered his voice even further, as if the spies he spoke of in the old world could hear him from across the ocean. "There is even talk in Madrid, between different ministers, of granting independence – to Mexico, to some or all of the other colonies – in exchange for..." He broke off and shrugged. "I don't even know what. _That_ is how chaotic things are in Madrid."

"_Independence?"_ she whispered. She couldn't help the glimpse of possibilities that word opened up. She shook her head to clear it, trying to think. "But what would that gain those ministers – or the king?"

He shrugged again. "I couldn't figure it out."

They both fell silent. Then she asked hesitantly, "Tio Alejo? Would you be for independence?"

He sat and thought about it for a long time. "I am for... stability. And peace," he finally answered. "I want to know what kind of government I am under, and I want it to be the same next year, and the year after that, and on and on. If it would not constantly change, I wouldn't much care what kind of government it was, or who headed it, or whether it was in Madrid, or Mexico City... or Monterrey." He snorted. "No, that's not quite true. I would obviously prefer a liberal government, with freedoms guaranteed for all by a constitution, and some measure of justice and equality – more than we have now, at any rate. But I also want peace, along with stability. I want an end to all these wars, all these rebellions. To brother killing brother." The name Resendo hovered suddenly between them, but he waved a hand sharply as if to wipe it away. That wasn't what he meant, and she nodded. "I would trade much for such peace and stability, but I do not know at this moment how much." He sighed. "Not that it much matters. I fear that nothing can bring it about."

Another long pause. Then, even quieter, "Tio Alejo? If Mexico did become independent – by whatever means... what would happen to the Army of New Spain?"

Alejandro took a long, deep breath. He knew exactly what she was really asking. But he wanted to give as accurate an answer as he could.

"The officers, I am certain, would be recalled to the Old Country – that is where they are from, and they would want to get home, whether officially recalled or not. But the rest, the rank and file... the companies and battalions would likely be disbanded where they were, and the flags and honors taken back home with the officers."

"Even the convict soldiers?"

He slowly nodded. "_Officially_, I am sure they _should_ serve out their sentences, however much they had left. But I doubt very seriously you would find even one officer who would take the time – or be mean enough – to insist on it, or have the resources to effect it." He looked straight at her and nodded. "Yes. Diego – and Jaime – would be free to come home."

She took a long, slow breath. "Then you will forgive me, Father, if I change my prayers."

He smiled thinly. "As soon as I have forgiven myself for the same thing." The look in his eyes gave his meaning plainly: he had already done so.

They sat silently for a few moments, each lost in thought. Then Don Alejandro smiled again, and stood to come sit close beside her on the couch. "But listen, Victoria. Put that aside. Because I have other news – _good_ news, for your ears only."

Victoria was completely flummoxed by this – what else could he mean?

He didn't leave her in suspense. "I do not understand Diego's theory as well as he did, but I do understand a little. And on my last voyage, coming north to home, Capitán Menendez told me something very important. He said that he has heard from other captains, ones who sail across the Pacific, that the big ocean currents and trade winds, which have been too far to the south in recent years, have begun this year to return to the north, to normal." He paused, but her face showed she did not understand the significance. "It means, my dear, that if Diego is correct, this long drought will at last come to an end – _this_ winter. All we have to do is hang on until December, and the rains will come again."


	24. Chapter 24

_**Chapter Twenty-Four**_

Don Alejandro was correct. Around the middle of December, late one evening, the skies, which had been maddeningly overcast for weeks yet stubbornly refused to let go of a single drop, opened up, and in the space of a week let loose a torrential downpour that seemed as if it were the past three years' of rain all rolled into one. It would take a full two years for the water levels to return to normal, but the drought was over. As if they had been waiting for it – which they had – the hills and canyons greened almost overnight, new grasses and wildflowers springing up almost fast enough to watch.

Victoria and Alejandro sent not one but four men up through the canyons for the next rendezvous with Juan Carlos six weeks later, telling him to bring the cattle home as quickly as he reasonably could. He had already heard of the rains south of the mountains, so had been nudging the massive herd towards the southern end of their rambling loop around the big valley, and so needed a mere two weeks – the messengers remaining to help – to bring their long trail drive to an end.

The day the herd reached de la Vega land once more was one of massive celebration. El Patrón, La Patrona, and every other individual on the ranch had ridden to the northern foothills to wait, and cheered as the horses and cattle touched foot on home soil. Don Orlando was there, as well, with several men to cut out his few head and take them home. Don Alejandro had brought several bottles of good red wine, imported from the City, and they were opened and drunk with many toasts to their success.

"I have brought you more heads than I took with me, Patrón, Patrona," Juan Carlos reported with a grin. "Not twice as many, but close. We had a good crop of calves last spring, and most of them survived." Then he sobered; not all the news was good. "I am sorry, though, that I lost two men." More recent hires than most of the rest, they did not feel the same loyalty to their Patrón, and had attempted to talk Juan Carlos and the others into a change of plan, which would benefit them more directly – and handsomely. When met with an unexpectedly solid block of resistance, however, they had first attempted an armed takeover, which had been quickly squashed. But since he had no way of keeping them under lock and key, Juan Carlos had simply turned them out to fend for themselves; and they had returned a few nights later to quickly and quietly cut out close to three dozen head, which they herded north towards Sacramento to sell and disappear with the money.

Don Alejandro shrugged. The ranches withstood such losses on the yearly spring drives south; it was only to be expected. Nor were the handful of cattle the men had sold or eaten along the way any concern. "We are in far, far better shape than we would have been otherwise," he told the foreman, "and better than any of the other ranches, either." Not that _he_ would ever stoop to rubbing their noses in it, of course.

It wasn't until a few weeks later that the Alcalde, de Soto, sprang his trap. Don Alejandro came home from the weekly meeting of the dons absolutely white-faced in fury. "He has assessed _everyone_ for back taxes, all those he let slide the last few years of drought, and added _massive_ fines and other fees," he told Victoria, his jaws clenched so hard his teeth squeaked.

She gasped. "He can't do that!"

"He can," was the short reply, "and he has. And every peso is perfectly legal. He made certain to stay absolutely within the letter of the law this time. There is _nothing_ we can do to stop him."

"Of course there is!" Victoria said stoutly. "As we have done before. We will simply refuse – all of us!"

But he was shaking his head. "All the others can and are paying. I already tried to raise support, at the meeting. We are alone on this."

They still tried over the succeeding days to get some of the other landowners to stand with them in refusal, but none would even meet with Don Alejandro when he came to call. Even Don Orlando felt he had no choice but to comply. "It is useless, Victoria," said Don Alejandro. "Unless the others had resisted with us..."

"But what can he do?" she asked, furious at the idea of her old enemy having the last word.

"Victoria," he replied softly. "He can seize the ranch, if we do not pay."

That brought her up short. Surely not? Surely they were not in danger of losing _everything_, were they? She started shaking her head, and couldn't seem to stop. "No. No. He will _never _win. I will _not_ let him win! I _will not!_"

Her fierce determination seemed almost to wound him as much as anything else. "Victoria..." he whispered, reaching to place a palm on her cheek. "Querida... I understand how you feel. But some day you must get rid of this hatred, or it will poison you in the end."

"I don't care," she said defiantly. "I don't care if this is the sin that keeps me from heaven, Father. I can't let it go. I _can't..._" She whirled around and walked stiffly into the hacienda, and he let her go, knowing there was nothing more he could say.

It took several more days, but he finally came up with a plan. "It is not my first choice, nor my second or worse, but it is the only way out that I can see," he told her one evening over dinner. Since his return, they once more had their evening meal in the dining room together; El Patrón was not quite the sort of man to eat in the kitchen with the hired help, but no one held that against him.

About two-thirds of the cattle Juan Carlos had returned with, at the current market value, would equal the total they owed in back taxes and fines. Since they knew de Soto would merely confiscate any payment on the hoof for his own use, Don Alejandro would simply drive them to his ranch anyway and turn them over there, insisting on a receipt. "But that will only settle what we owe from years past. It will not help us in the future; and he intends to continue these high taxes, for everyone who owns large pieces of land. We have no chance to keep up," he laid it out.

Victoria swallowed hard. "Then what can we do?"

He took a deep breath. "Break up the ranch. I will keep the core of it – the hacienda, the buildings and land right around them – but the rest, I will divide into small enough portions to escape his taxes, and give them to my rancheros. They deserve the recognition, and reward, for their years of loyal hard work." The remaining cattle, he explained, would be divided up between the new small ranchettes.

"But... the cantina..."

"Does not bring in enough, nor would it, even if you sold it outright. No. We can live on what we make there, and comfortably, but it will not carry the ranch, too."

She took a deep breath. "I don't understand what has changed, Father. Why we must do this – what about everyone else?"

He looked at her sadly, then shrugged. "I don't know what the other dons are doing, but I can tell you why we are in this fix. Because of my journey; all the money we had to raise and I had to pay in bribes, and travel expenses. It has left us with not enough to pay these taxes. I think de Soto knows this, too. Everyone else, who stayed put, although they will have to scrape and strain, can pay. Not us." As she sat absorbing this, he raised one hand to stop the comment she hadn't even thought of. "I do not – _can_ not, _ever_ – regret what I have done, to secure Diego's – and Jaime's – freedom. Even if..." he let it trail off, unwilling to say the words. "It is done, and I have no regrets," he finished with absolute finality. "We will move forward, however we can, instead of looking back."

They sat in silence for several minutes, picking at their food. Finally, Victoria looked up at his beloved face, now lined and weary. "Is this the only way, Father?" she asked quietly.

He nodded slowly, sadly. "Yes."

"Then it is what we will do. And as you say, with no regrets."

* * *

The following noon, a Monday (so the cantina was closed), they gathered every last person who worked on the ranch together and explained the situation, then laid out the plan. It caused a great deal of consternation and explanation, but at last it was settled. Not every man wanted his acres; many preferred to remain as rancheros, either to Don Alejandro – who could keep on two or three – or to another landowner; and some had other ideas entirely. El Patrón promised to divide the land fairly and evenly, and assist everyone else fairly, until each was settled. They just needed to let him know their plans.

Later that afternoon, Juan Carlos came into the hacienda, hat in hand. "Patrón, Patrona, I would like to speak with you, por favor."

Don Alejandro and Doña Victoria were sitting in the dining room, with its large table, going over the map of the ranch and penciling in tentative lines. "Of course, come in!" replied Alejandro. He rose from his seat, an unexpected honor to the foreman. "I have not had the chance to truly thank you for your service these last years. Your time up north with the cattle was not wasted, mi amigo; it saved the ranch from a far worse fate!" He shook Juan Carlos' hand and – shocking the man even further – offered him a seat at the table, which he took gingerly, placing his hat in his lap. "You have come to tell us your preference, of course. You deserve a large portion of the ranch!"

"Actually, Father," Victoria said shrewdly, "I think he has a different idea. Don't you?"

Juan Carlos nodded. "You have learned to read my mind, I think, Patrona. Yes." He turned to Don Alejandro. "You have promised equal shares in the land and cattle, Patrón. I would like to request my share in cattle only."

"But where will you keep them?" Don Alejandro began, then interrupted himself as he realized. "Up in the big valley!"

Juan Carlos smiled then, nodding again. "It is a huge area, Señor, full of grass and rivers. Dry, yes, but no drier than here. And with very few people. A man unafraid of hard work could build himself a ranch there, and prosper."

"Not all by himself," Don Alejandro returned. "You would need help."

"I think there are several men here who would be willing to go with me. Who like to work for a big ranch, and would not mind me being the owner. I do not know how to claim the land, however – I would need your help for that."

Victoria broke in. "But... you'd be all alone. No one to hand it down to. You need a family, Juan Carlos. A wife, children..."

He smiled, a little shyly. "There is someone I have been thinking of asking..."

She pounced. "Who?"

Now he turned nervous. "I have not said anything to her, nothing at all..." He swallowed. "I have no idea what she even thinks of me, if she would even consider..." he trailed off, embarrassed, they could tell, to be a man in his sixties considering marrying for the first time.

Victoria smiled kindly. "Well, the only way to find out is to ask."

Now he was _really_ nervous. Her smile broadened to a grin. "Do you want _me_ to ask?" She held up a hand quickly. "Not actually propose, but just... test the waters? See if she _might_ be interested?"

Juan Carlos thought about that for a moment, then squeaked out, "yes."

"Then you'll have to tell me who," she kept herself from laughing.

He swallowed. "Belinda."

Victoria couldn't keep her jaw from dropping – but then, neither could Don Alejandro. Neither of them ever had any inkling that their sixty-something foreman was interested in their late-twenties housemaid. After trading astonished glances with her father-in-law, however, Victoria quickly shut her mouth and turned a friendly face back to Juan Carlos, promising to do just as she had said.

* * *

Judging from her astonished expression, Belinda had never considered the possibility either. Victoria had gently posed the question that same evening when the two of them were alone. Belinda's eyes grew round and her cheeks flamed red. When she timidly verified that she had heard Victoria correctly, she turned away, blushing furiously, then giggled, nodded at Victoria, and ran out of the room. Victoria passed on the paraphrased message, and left the two of them alone to get on with it at their own pace.

Two weeks later, Juan Carlos and his new bride, along with five rancheros and a wagonload of supplies and a hastily-gathered trouseau, drove five hundred head of cattle north through the canyons again, to start their future.


	25. Chapter 25

_**Chapter Twenty-Five**_

The newlyweds' departure presaged many more changes, as Don Alejandro worked swiftly to divide the Rancho de la Vega up between the his men, draw up the legal papers to transfer ownership, and send them to court, all before Ignacio de Soto found out what he was up to. He had the immense pleasure of driving the cattle to pay the fine over to de Soto's ranch and handing him the results on the same day; he would treasure for the rest of his life the look of thwarted fury on the Alcalde's face as he realized he would _not_ be getting his hands on his enemy's ranch, after all.

He soon realized that continuing to live in the hacienda was simply untenable for a number of reasons, and he, Victoria, and Paulo moved to the rooms over the cantina's office and kitchen for good. Alejandro threw himself into the role of cantiñero with gusto and as much good will as he could muster; if it was a little forced at times, Victoria forbore to mention it. Sara, surprising everyone, agreed to marry Franco and move with him onto his new little farm; they were soon expecting their first baby and first crop of vegetables together. Even the old cook, Maria Luisa, made a surprising announcement: she was quite simply tired, and wanted to just sit in the sun. Don Alejandro moved her into a small house he bought for her in the pueblo and granted her a generous stipend. At last, only old Miguel, the stable hand, remained in his little house behind the barn, watching over the vegetable gardens and the few horses they kept, including Fuego, Balada, and Don Alejandro's favorite mare, Dulcinea. None of _them_ would _ever_ be sold. The horses, at least, were not a drain on their finances, between the stud fees Fuego could command and the occasional foals from the mares. All three of them were pure-bred Andalusians.

And so the three of them: Alejandro, Victoria, and Paulo, became an even more tightly-knit little family, rubbing elbows as they did all day long in the running of the cantina and raising the boy. Don Orlando began to come in more often, either sitting with Don Alejandro or taking Paulo for long rides. A short time after the move, he gave the boy a pony for his birthday and began teaching him seriously how to ride. Don Alejandro was startled at first by the attention paid to his grandson, but as soon as he realized the relationship, of godson and heir, he relaxed; it was only natural they become close, and the elder teach the younger many things.

Thus it was in the fall of that year, one fine Saturday afternoon, and the cantina was booming with life, when Alcalde de Soto stalked in with some folded papers in one hand. Don Alejandro, sitting at his usual front table in between serving customers, and Victoria, behind the bar at the moment, both saw his triumphant expression with frigid and apprehensive hearts: what had he come for _now?_

He didn't give them time to wonder, holding up the papers and unfolding them – it was a letter of some sort – and starting to read it out, very loudly. The din in the cantina died away instantly.

"_From the Headquarters of the Army of New Spain,  
Mexico City,_

_To Alejandro de la Vega,  
Pueblo of Los Angeles – " _

Don Alejandro bolted out of his seat, growling at de Soto for opening and reading _his_ mail, but de Soto merely held the letter up higher, reading even louder – nearly shouting – to drown him out. His next words stopped Alejandro cold, and sent a wave of freezing fear ripping through Victoria, even before she heard the entire sentence.

"_We regret to inform you that your son, Convict Private Diego Vega, and his partner, Convict Private Jaime Mendoza, were EXECUTED last May while their company was on patrol, for COWARDICE and MUTINY. Their graves are unknown. We hereby return the orders for their release to you._

_Sincerely, _blah blah blah."

The cantina was completely silent, save for the harsh breathing of Don Alejandro and quiet whimpers of Doña Victoria. Lowering the papers slowly, de Soto gave the elder the most evil, malicious, triumphant smile anyone there had ever seen. He glanced down at the table beside him and snatched up the sharp cheese knife lying there, then placed the letter against a nearby post and stabbed it in place. Then he looked slowly around, grinning ferally at everyone, then turned on his heel and stalked out into the sunshine.

Don Alejandro's knees gave out, and he collapsed unseeing back into the seat he had just vacated. Someone took Victoria by the arm, led her to another chair nearby and pushed her unresponsive form into it. "No... no..." was all she could say, over and over.

Teniente Vargas was inside the cantina and had witnessed the event. While everyone else stood still, shocked into immobility, he walked heavily over to the post, grabbed the knife and pulled it out, then placed it carefully back onto the table while he held and read the letter.

"Teniente?" one of the lancers piped up tremulously. "Is it genuine? From headquarters?" No one could quite wrap their minds around what had just transpired.

Vargas held the letter up, peered at the printed masthead and the scrawled signature and printed name below, and ran his fingers over the raised seal. He turned his head towards Don Alejandro, who was peering at him hopelessly, and nodded, his face absolutely wretched. "It is genuine," he said hoarsely to the room at large. Victoria buried her face in her hands.

Laying the pages gently on the table, Vargas then stepped over to Don Alejandro and placed a hand on his shoulder. "I am so very sorry, Don Alejandro. I..." Diego's devastated father was quietly weeping and did not look up. Vargas glanced around the room. "Mis amigos, the cantina is closed. Please show respect for the family and leave quietly, now." He waited until everyone had filed silently past and out the door, then closed and barred it. He then stepped over to Victoria. "Doña Victoria, I am so sorry. Please let me know if there is anything I can do." A thought occurred to him. "Where is Paulo?" he asked gently.

She managed to focus enough to remember, and choked out that he was with Don Orlando on his ranch for the day. Vargas nodded, and said he would take word personally what had happened, and ask Don Orlando to keep the boy until the following day. Did she hear that? She nodded and managed to repeat it, and thank him. Finally, he left through the side door off the patio into the alley, and sent a lancer running for a notice of closure due to a death in the family to tack to the front door.

The two sat emptily in the yawning silence, staring at nothing, trying vainly to absorb what had happened. The words kept ricocheting off the insides of their skulls and sending waves of stabbing pain down their spines. Executed. Cowardice. Mutiny.

"No," Victoria whispered again. "I do not believe it. I cannot believe it of Diego." A vast, heaving mass of agony and desolation hovered just over her shoulder, waiting to engulf her the second she lost the strength to hold it off. For more than three long years, she had managed to keep going, to keep believing in her husband's eventual return, even through the accelerated trials and responsibility for not only the ranch and the people attached to it, but carrying her pregnancy and raising her son – _their_ son – all by herself. And for what? echoed through her head. Was it all for nothing now? The endless, aching, dusty years stretched ahead, all alone like she had always been afraid she would end up. _Diego is dead._ _He will never come home._ How could she stand it? How could she face it?

Across the room, her father-in-law slowly, painfully pushed himself to his feet and stood a moment, swaying, as if he couldn't believe he was upright. Then he turned and shuffled, like the old man he had become in the space of a minute, a single paragraph read aloud, walking towards the back doors. He paused by her table and turned his head, but couldn't meet her tortured gaze. He shook his head, unable to generate a single word, and continued slowly out the door and through the patio. She heard the door into the alley slap closed a moment later. The thought dimly registered that she should rise and go after him, but it caused no answering signal to her muscles, and she simply sat, staring into the dark, desolate corners of her cantina and her future.

* * *

Several hours later, as the afternoon light began its long fade to dusk, Victoria stepped through the front door to the hacienda, and looked to the right, heaving a huge sigh of relief. There he was, as she had hoped. Someone had told her they had seen him riding slowly out towards his ranch. Now Don Alejandro was sitting in his old favorite chair before the fireplace, staring at nothing. A shaft of sunlight through the western window across from him had crept unnoticed across the rug and was warming his legs.

She glanced at the old sofa, but wanted to be nearer him, so she pushed his footstool slightly to the side and sat on it, placing her hands gently on his knees. "Father..." she whispered, but then he spoke, his voice as thin and reedy as the breeze whispering through the nearby pines.

"A man should have more than one child," he said. "Because if he loses that one... he has lost everything." It seemed to Victoria to sum up everything.

"I want to curl up and die," she admitted. "Just let the dust settle over me and bury me where I am. I can't..." Her voice threatened to trail off into silence, but she looked up into his face and forced it stronger. "But I must. Because we _haven't_ lost everything, Father. We still have Paulo. _Diego's son._" She paused a moment, letting that penetrate both their souls, feeling it echo through her desolation. "I am going to go on, because I must. I will raise his son to remember and honor his father, and to become everything that his father was, and stood for. That is the only way – " She caught and corrected herself. "That is how we will honor Diego. He will never be forgotten. Paulo will be the man his father was, but openly and proudly, for all to see and admire." She tried hard to make herself believe it was enough, knowing that would be a constant struggle from then on.

Then she looked up into his face. "But Father... I can't do it alone. Please. I need your help." Somehow she knew she had to bring both of them back to life, or Don Alejandro would surely sink into his grief and disappear, as she wanted to do. It was overwhelming – but so was the prospect of going on. She continued pleading with him. "Please, Father... Please help me..."

At last, his eyes came alive again, and sank down to focus on Victoria's lovely face, as tear-stained and wretched as his. He lifted his hands from the arms of the chair and covered hers on his knees, then picked them up and pulled her gently up from her stool. She climbed onto Don Alejandro's lap as though she were a little girl again, put her head on his shoulder, and they wept together until the light was gone.


	26. Chapter 26 - Part Three

_**Part Three: La Cantiñera**_

_**Chapter Twenty-Six**_

They stayed up until the dawn, wandering from room to room in the old hacienda, sharing memories, some laughs, and lots of tears. Some time after midnight, Victoria realized she was also saying goodbye to the house. With the majority of the ranch lands sliced up and given away, she was no longer Patrona – but she had only ever filled that role through duty, to her husband and her father-in-law. Now, with Diego's reported death, that period of her life was over. She would miss it, but never a hundredth as much as she missed him.

She didn't know whether Don Alejandro was also saying goodbye, and did not ask. She rather thought he was, however; especially after the sun rose again, and they climbed back aboard their horses (hobbled in the front yard all night) for the ride back to the pueblo and their new lives. He sat on Dulcinea for a long, long minute, gazing at his old front door... then reined Dulcinea around and clicked her into a trot without a word.

They returned to find Franco and Sara already there, matter-of-factly setting the cantina up for the day as though they did so every morning. The couple stayed for nearly two weeks, running the place, allowing both mourners to do as much or as little as they had the will and presence of mind for, brushing off any declarations of gratitude or hints at recompense. "You both have done so very much, for so very many people; it's about time someone returned it to you," Sara finally said, brooking no opposition.

The cantina was filled the first day with a never-ending stream of well-wishers, those who come after any death to offer sincere condolences. Fortified by her night of memories, Victoria managed to get through it with equanimity. Most of it.

As soon as the front door was opened, the first man to step through was Father Patricio from the little church across the plaza. He had been a fixture in the pueblo ever since his arrival many years before, and was a kind and caring priest. Stepping over to Don Alejandro, sitting as always at his front table with Victoria beside him, he started to speak but was cut off by the older man. "Ah, Father, I am glad you came. We need to speak, to arrange a memorial service for Diego and Jaime." Now why, Victoria thought, did the priest look so uncomfortable? "What is it?" Don Alejandro cut in sharply as Father Patricio looked down at the table.

Father Patricio licked his lips nervously, dropping his voice so no one else could hear. "Please forgive my asking such painful questions, but I must. Are the rumors true, my old friend? They were executed?" Don Alejandro nodded. "And the charges? Mutiny? And cowardice?"

Don Alejandro swallowed hard, holding his temper down as it suddenly flared. "That is what those fools at army headquarters claimed in their letter. Why are you asking?"

"Because..." Father Patricio's voice cracked, and he took a breath and tried again. "Because it means... I am sorry, old friend. But it means that I cannot hold a memorial for them. Not within the church. I am sorry." He looked away again, anywhere but their faces.

"What?" Don Alejandro slowly drew himself up to his feet, staring incredulously. "But it is not true. It _cannot_ be true. My son would _never_ do such a thing – nor would Jaime! You cannot tell me you believe it – you _knew_ both of them!"

Father Patricio managed to look at him again. "Yes, I knew them. I knew Diego well. He was a scholar, an intelligent man, kind and honorable." He licked his lips again and managed to stand straight. "But he was not a brave man, nor a strong one. You know that." His face said he could not believe he was having this conversation.

Neither did his listeners. "My son was _all_ of those things. He was Zorro!"

That changed the look on the padre's face to one of pity. "Don Alejandro," he began soothingly. "Zorro died in the earthquake – he was never seen again. And after that, _many_ men tried to take his fame for themselves. It is understandable that a grieving father would take it for his son. But we must face the truth."

Victoria, looking back and forth at them, was swamped once more by a wave of desolation. This was the result of Diego's secrecy all those years, and never being able to proclaim himself openly, for fear of official retribution. He had been right to do so, she knew that, she did! – but it didn't make having her face rubbed in her husband's poor, "unmanly" reputation any easier. "Tio Alejo," she whispered, shaking her head at him slightly when he glanced at her. He turned his head away, grasping a rung of the staircase behind the table and holding on with white knuckles as he forced himself to take several deep breaths.

Thinking he had made his point, Father Patricio went on kindly. "Because of the official charges, I cannot hold a service in church. But I would be very happy to say the prayers here, whenever you would like."

That brought Don Alejandro's head around again, sharply. He let go of the rung, resting his hand on the table instead. Victoria tried to ignore that it was held in a fist. "No," he said flatly. "I do not want your mewling prayers – and Diego does not need them. He was _not_ guilty of those charges, and I will prove it. Now I must ask you to leave this establishment." Without waiting for the padre to move, he turned sharply and climbed the stairs to his room, moving with as much dignity as he could muster.

Father Patricio looked at Victoria, perhaps to plead with her, but she turned her head to watch Don Alejandro and pointedly ignored him, until he, too, sighed and headed towards the door.

She gave her father-in-law about fifteen minutes to cool down, then knocked softly on his door, opening it a moment later. He was sitting on his bed, hands on his knees, still shaking a bit. "I'm sorry – " he started to apologize, but she shook her head, coming to sit beside him and taking his hand in hers.

"Thank you," she startled him. "For making him leave. You were far kinder than I could have been."

"Kinder?" His voice showed his skepticism at that.

"Kinder than my fingernails trying to claw out his lying tongue," she said levelly. They stared at each other for a moment, before both managed a weak smile.

She laid her head on his shoulder, and he patted her hand. "I _will_ find out the truth, Victoria. I will never believe what they said. We knew him better than that. The letter had no details, but I am certain my agent knows more. We must wait for his letter. I will keep him digging until he finds it all out."

"It is possible..." her voice trailed off uncertainly, and he squeezed her hand to go on. "I do not, and never will, believe him possible of actual cowardice, or mutiny. But it is possible, Father, we must be prepared to accept, that whatever it was he – they – _did_ do, _looked_ like that to their superiors. That's the only reasonable explanation I can come up with."

He thought it over before nodding. "In which case," he steeled himself to say, "we will never be able to _officially_ clear their names."

She gave her head a little shake against his shoulder. "We knew who he really was, Father. But no one else did. Or ever will. And we will have to deal with that, as well," she whispered.

Don Alejandro heaved a huge sigh. "And that will not be easy. Even if we could proclaim the truth publicly, most would never believe it. The people in the pueblo still think of him as... the weakling he pretended to be, all that time."

"Not all of them do," she said stoutly, lifting her head. "After the earthquake, he _did_ change, although slowly and carefully. But he _did_ prove himself, to many people. The rancheros all respected and followed him, and so did many in the pueblo. They will not _all_ believe the charges." Staring at each other, they saw the pain hiding behind each pair of eyes: _but some will._

They sat for a moment, then he sighed again. "But in the meantime, I need to come back downstairs, and deal with our friends and neighbors, don't I?"

* * *

A little after noon, Victoria looked up to see Don Orlando walk in from the kitchen, and rose to meet him at the end of the bar, where he took both her hands in his.

"Victoria," he began. "I am so, so very sorry for what has happened. I cannot believe it."

"Thank you," she said, then, "Where is Paulo?"

"In the kitchen, with Sara," he replied quickly with a nod over his shoulder. "I talked to the boy, tried to explain... but at that age... I don't know how much he understood."

She nodded. "He's not yet four. And his father is only a name in stories that his mother tells him at bedtime." Squeezing his hands gently, she gave him a sad smile. "He will understand more when he is older."

Orlando looked around at the crowd, thinner just now, but still a constant stream. "Would you like for me to keep him for a few days out at the ranch? This scene..." he trailed off, but she nodded understanding.

"Would just confuse him further," she finished the thought. "Part of me wants to keep him near, but you're right. He doesn't need to go through this, when he does not understand it." She looked up into his face again. "Yes, and thank you, Orlando. But I want to talk to him first."

He nodded back, squeezing her hands again before dropping them. "And I must speak to Don Alejandro."

"Mama!" the little boy called from his perch behind the big table as she walked through the door, his face lighting up with joy. The sight nearly brought her to her knees again, but she managed to ask how he was with a light enough tone. Sara, standing at the oven, shot her a quick look before she turned back to stirring again.

Pulling another chair over to sit beside him, Victoria told him he would be staying with Don Orlando for a few more days. "Would you like that?" Of course he would.

"But are you all right, Mama? He said..."

"What did he say?"

"He said that Papa had died? I don't understand."

They talked for a bit, Victoria reminding him of one of their hacienda cats which had died the previous winter at a very ripe old age. Paulo had been the one to find the body, engendering a long, frank discussion of life and death, and very nearly a state funeral for the feline.

"So he is never coming home?" Paulo asked with a quaver that brought tears to her eyes again.

"No, my precious. He is not ever coming home. But we will remember him, always, and try to do things that would make him proud up in heaven."

"All right," he said, a little doubtfully. She gave his shoulders a squeeze.

"Don't worry about that. He will always be proud of you. And so will I, and your grandfather. Speaking of which, you should go and give him a hug before you leave again."


	27. Chapter 27

_**Chapter Twenty-Seven**_

In retrospect, she realized later, she should have anticipated it, but at the time, she remained blissfully oblivious. During the long months that followed that dreadful letter, as Victoria and Don Alejandro struggled daily to regain their emotional footing, a steady stream of eligible men trickled through the Cantina Victoria, just as they had before her marriage to Diego. And as before, they chatted her up, even flirted a little – and if her repartee seemed a little mechanical, her smiles absent-minded – or just plain absent – they used it as a gauge for her state of mourning. She only knew that the cantina business seemed to pick up, week by week – even after Tonio returned to town and opened up – apparently with the backing of Alcalde de Soto – his own, rougher establishment, with a couple of tavern wenches, on the far outskirts of town. Don Alejandro may have divined their customers' intentions, but if so, he said nothing to his daughter-in-law.

The odd thing was that none of the men actually _said_ anything directly; at least, not until after Don Orlando. One afternoon, after several weeks had passed, he brought little Paulo back from a long ride horse- and pony-back, entering the kitchen from the patio with huge grins on both faces.

"Mama!" Paulo cried out happily, and ran to give Victoria a hug around her waist as she stood beside the long counter chopping vegetables. He was closing in on four years old, and tall for his age, just as his father had been.

"Back in one piece?" she smiled down at her son.

"He's getting to be quite a good rider," Orlando offered good-naturedly. "He'll be jumping that pony soon – only over token barriers, a few inches high," he hastened to add at her dismayed glance. "He hangs on like a leech."

"I have _never_ fallen off my pony!" Paulo added proudly. "Soon I will be able to ride Fuego, like you!"

"Well, I think you have a few years yet before you can handle a full-size horse," she laughed, ignoring the vast additional experience that would be needed before the high-spirited stallion would accept him. She leaned over to kiss his forehead. "Now go and wash up, dinner is almost ready." Immediately, predictably distracted by the prospect of food, the boy ran off to change his shirt. "Will you stay tonight and eat with us?" she asked Orlando.

"Perhaps," he replied, looking at her thoughtfully. "But first, may I have a word with you? In private?"

"Is something wrong?" she asked immediately, all motherly worry.

"No," he smiled, but would say nothing more, merely held out a hand and gestured back towards the patio door.

He followed her out the door, past the little lean-to, and – glancing around to verify the patio was still empty of onlookers – stopped her next to the side wall. She leaned back against it with a sigh, happy to stand still for a moment.

Orlando was silent, seeming unsure how to begin, and she smiled encouragingly. "What is it?"

Glancing away with a rueful snort, he shook his head. "I have imagined this a hundred times, but now it has come, all my fancy words have fled."

"Then speak plainly, please." She was mystified, no inkling of what was coming.

Reaching out, he took both of her hands in his. "All right," he began. "Victoria... I want to marry you." Ignoring her astonished gasp, he went on, elaborating. "I want to make you my wife, and Paulo my stepson. I want you both to come live with me on my ranch – and Don Alejandro, too, if he will."

Her head was already shaking No. "Orlando..." she managed to get out. "I... I am married."

His turn to shake his head. "You are a widow," he said gently. "As I am a widower. And Diego... although he was a good and loyal friend... has been gone for a very long time. Since before Paulo was born."

Victoria gave him a tiny smile, still shaking her head. "No he hasn't," she corrected. Taking back one hand, she laid it over her heart – and the locket holding Diego's curl. "He's right here." He took a breath to argue, but she stopped him, moving the hand from her chest to lay it lightly on his. He captured it again with his own and held it there. "Orlando... you are a _good_ man; kind... wise... and honorable. You should not be alone. You _should_ marry again, and have children. You deserve it." His face showed the disappointment at the 'but' he knew was coming. "You deserve to have a wife who will love you with all her heart – who will not be thinking of someone else every time you held her. And you would know it," she ended gently, shaking her head sadly once more. "My heart is not so easily turned."

Orlando sighed, then nodded with a little regretful smile. He had expected something like this. But he was prepared for it. "I will give you all the time you need, Victoria. I will wait." She drew a breath to reply, her face dismayed, but he silenced her with a finger laid lightly across her lips, leaving her hand alone on his chest. "_My_ heart is not so easily turned, either, querida. And I have loved you... for many years." He paused, then shook his head at what he knew would be her objection. "My feelings for you have nothing to do with my feelings for Pacia. I am living proof that it is possible to love two different people, in two different ways, and not have one detract from the other." He paused, letting his meaning sink in. "I will wait... until you realize the same."

His finger had slowly traced her lips and trailed so softly down her chin. He returned that hand then to cover her own again, smiling gently at the realization that she had not moved an inch.

She was absorbing the truth of what he had said, feeling the slightest echo within her heart. She _did_ care for him, deeply. It was just that Diego overshadowed _everything_ else, and always had.

He was waiting for a reaction, but she had none to give. She pulled both her hands back and let them hang by her sides. "Orlando..." she breathed, and sadly shook her head again.

He didn't take it amiss. "I will wait," he repeated softly, then took a step backwards, away from her, gave a tiny, yet courtly bow, and turned towards the outer door.

"Orlando..." she called after him, suddenly desperate for him not to leave, and he swiveled back. The problem was, she didn't know what she had wanted to say. And then she did. "Ask me again in a year. I cannot promise you a yes... but I will not say yes to anyone else."

A brilliant smile stole across his face, lighting it like the sunrise. "Then I will ask in a year, and keep asking – not too often – until you _can_ say yes. Take as long as you need, querida. I am not going anywhere. And I will _ask_ no one else."

He took the step back towards her then, placed a palm against her cheek, then leaned slowly in to kiss her; a long, sweet, gentle, undemanding kiss. She closed her eyes and accepted it, not quite kissing him back but not refusing it, either. For that one stretch of time she managed not to think the name _Diego._

When he pulled away and stepped back again, the bow he gave her that time was definitely courtly, with a deep flourish. It made her smile, even give a tiny laugh, but she waved him away, managing to not let it turn to tears until the outer door had closed behind him.

She stayed leaning against the wall for a long, long time, trying vainly to sort out her tangled feelings. She _did_ _like_ Orlando, very much. She was _very_ fond of him. All right, she loved him. But marriage? She tried to picture herself living on his ranch, in his house... in his arms.

In his bed.

But that, she couldn't manage. She couldn't imagine herself sleeping with anyone but Diego. And with the name, her desolation at his loss came romping back to sweep over her once more, and more coherent thought was impossible.

* * *

When she finally came back inside the kitchen some twenty minutes later, Don Alejandro was there with Paulo, eating their supper. He looked up at her lovely face with raised eyebrows over expectant eyes, an expression that turned to concern a moment later at her own strained one. "You were out there so long, that I thought..."

She shook her head. "I can't, Father. Not yet." The question of how he knew flitted across her mind, but she ignored it. He always knew. That's what made him Father.

Rising, he stepped around the table and took her into his arms, pulling her head against his shoulder. Ignoring the pain stabbing deep into his heart, he sought instead to give her balanced, thoughtful advice. "It is not a betrayal of him, my daughter," he whispered, too softly for Paulo to hear. "He would not want you to be unhappy forever."

Her face twisted again, and she buried it into his shoulder until she got herself back under control. "I know," she finally whispered back. "I just can't... not yet." Raising her head, she admitted, "I told him to ask again in a year."

"A sensible period," he replied evenly. Looking into his eyes, she saw the pain he was trying to hide, and acknowledged it with a tiny smile.

"For both of us," she said.

* * *

As if Orlando had somehow blown up a log jam, however, that began a steady trickle of proposals, one every week or two, from an astonishing variety of local men – everyone from dons to shopkeepers to rough peasants with only an acre – or no land at all. She listened to each one with grave kindness, turning each down as gently as she could. They left disappointed, but not diminished, which she rather thought was a tiny something to be proud of. Each one, however, conversely further cemented the idea that the only man she might someday countenance getting remarried to, was Don Orlando.

Nothing could have prepared her, however, for the day that brought their old enemy, the Alcalde Ignacio de Soto, to the bar.

It was late in the evening, several months after Orlando's proposal, and they were closing down the cantina. Victoria was wiping down the bar while Don Alejandro collected the last glasses and bottles from the patio, and Paulo – still happy to help his elders – carefully rinsed glasses while standing on the stool by the big sink in the kitchen. She looked up as someone walked in through the open door, prepared to apologize for turning them away as it was closing time, but the words died on her lips as she gaped in surprise.

They had not seen much of de Soto since he had triumphantly read out the letter apprising them of Diego's and Jaime's deaths. He had been mostly busy on his ranch, now that it was beginning to prosper with the help of the former de la Vega cattle, as well as cash skimmed from other tax payments. He had still been leaving the running of the pueblo largely in the hands of the Council of Dons, with Teniente Vargas to carry out their rare plans and keep order in the streets with his lancers. Those times de Soto had ridden into town, he was increasingly brusque and surly, as his old world polish rubbed off more and more under the unceasing hard manual labor – even after he had managed to hire some more hands. He bought new clothes regularly, but they seemed to fall apart and need patching quickly, none remaining pristine for long.

He had made another effort this evening, however. His clothes were clean, if not as starched as he used to prefer, and his hair was clean and combed, his face freshly shaven, his nails trimmed and hands scrubbed. "Doña Victoria," he greeted her with a courteous tip of his head. His eyes, however, she decided, were still shadowed with that wild edge that had been growing in them lately.

"Señor Alcalde," she returned coolly. "I am sorry, but we are closing. I cannot serve you this evening."

"I am not here for a drink. I have come for another reason."

"And what is that?" Dropping her damp rag, she crossed her arms over her chest, unwelcoming.

He hesitated. "My ranch is finally becoming prosperous," he managed to say without boasting – too much, "and giving back profits. The hacienda is well appointed, and I am about to start importing more furnishings from Spain."

Victoria's eyebrows had arched, wondering why on earth he thought she might be interested, but before she could ask, he went on, shocking her into speechlessness.

"But there is still something missing. Several somethings. A wife. A family." He paused again, this time for emphasis, and took a final step closer, resting his hands on the bar between them. "I would like _you_... to be that wife."

Her jaw slowly dropped open. It took several seconds, but she finally managed to ask, "Are you _loco?"_

"Yes. About you." Any romantic effect was ruined by the slight smirk lurking around his mouth. "There is no other woman in this pueblo – or anywhere in the territory – that I would rather have as my wife. And by marrying me, you would regain your position in society, as well as the fortune you so recently lost."

"That you stole," she replied pointedly, then shook her head, trying to clear it. _This is __crazy__!_ she thought. _I cannot __believe__ this is happening!_ "You aren't in love with me, Ignacio," she nearly hissed. "You only want me because it would be the final triumph over Diego." It was a guess, but a shrewd one – and his instantly narrowed eyes showed its accuracy. The idea of him parading around as her master – never her partner, as Diego had been – sickened her.

Just then, Don Alejandro walked in through the back door, closing and locking it behind him. Spying the other man, he set his full tray down on a nearby table and walked to the end of the bar, his jaw clenching tight. "What is going on here?" he asked, uncaring of any politeness where de Soto was concerned.

"He is asking me to marry him," Victoria incredulously informed her father-in-law, who turned a gobsmacked face towards her, as speechless as she had been a few moments before.

De Soto drew breath, preparing to add some smooth inanity, but Victoria held up a hand and stopped him. "No," she said simply, enunciating carefully. "Not _ever._ Get this through your head, Ignacio," she went on, dropping any honorifics. "There is _nothing..._ _no_ set of circumstances possible... that could _ever_ induce me to marry you. Or to come to your ranch, or into your life, with _any_ title or position. Is that clear enough, finally?" Dios, she hoped so. She couldn't stand the sight of him, and hated him being this close to her, after everything he had done.

De Soto had been ignoring Don Alejandro, as usual. He spoke again to Victoria, a slight smile playing once more on his lips, "I could make your life... your _lives_... _so_ much easier," he began, then dropped the smile. "Or much harder... if I chose."

She scoffed. "And that is your way of professing your love, I suppose?" With another bitter snort, she shook her head. "Go away, Ignacio. Please."

Don Alejandro managed to get his feet to move and walked forward, down the outside of the bar, forcing de Soto to take a step back away from it and further from Victoria. His eyes were thunderous, his face red with outrage. He forced himself to breath evenly, preparing to reinforce her request.

At that moment, they became aware of other people entering through the still-open front door. "I'm sorry, we are clo – " Don Alejandro began, turning towards the door before halting in utter shock, his face draining of blood instantly to pale white. "Madre de Dios!" he breathed, flinging out one hand to grab the bar to steady himself. Victoria glanced that way, too, and very nearly screamed in her shock, her hands flying to cover her mouth, one atop the other under eyes that flew open wide in disbelief.

For framed in the doorway, smiling expectantly at both of them, flanked by a slender man and a petite young woman, was the next-to-last person they ever expected to see, a man they had believed dead these past many months.

_Jaime Mendoza._


	28. Chapter 28

_**Chapter Twenty-Eight**_

Victoria was reeling as she stared at Diego's best friend, Jaime, her breath coming in short ragged gasps. She managed to register that the supposedly-dead man was much, much thinner than he had been when he was carried off south, and was leaning heavily on a cane in his right hand, dressed in simple civilian clothing. He seemed tired and careworn, his face with new lines – although he had kept his famous mustache.

"_You!_" The word was spat out by Jaime's former commander, Alcalde de Soto, who then stalked over to stand in front of Jaime and rake him head to foot. A low growl suddenly sounded, and Victoria dropped her eyes to see a medium-sized black dog standing pressed against the woman's near side, glaring and growling at de Soto with his hackles raised. Without glancing down, the woman snapped her fingers and then held her open palm before the dog. He touched her palm with his nose and the growling stopped, but he neither sat nor relaxed a hair, continuing to stare menacingly at de Soto.

De Soto ignored the dog and the other two people completely, continuing to spit out to Jaime, "You're supposed to be _dead!_"

"_Dead?_" Jaime echoed, astonished.

"I received a dispatch from army headquarters, stating that you and 'Convict Private Vega'", de Soto sneered the title and shortened name, "had both been _executed, _for _cowardice_ and _mutiny_!" He pronounced the words almost lovingly, as though they were proof themselves of the deed.

As much as Victoria wished de Soto would just shut up and go away, she needed the answers to the conundrum as if her own life depended on them. Her knees wobbled, and she managed to lower one hand to grasp the edge of the bar to steady herself. Jaime's expression had gone from astonishment to bewilderment, with a flicker of – what was that, fright? concern? – in between. Then a steely, pseudo-friendly resolve covered them all.

"Well, as you can see, the dispatch was incorrect. I am here, alive."

Don Alejandro drew in a noisy, shaky breath. "And Diego?" he managed to ask.

Jaime looked over at the two of them and smiled. A tiny nod both broke and healed Victoria's heart at the same moment. "He lives," he said simply.

Victoria crumpled then, both hands covering her face once more as she wilted over the bar, sobbing. _Diego lives. He lives. He is still alive, _echoed again and again in through her mind, blocking out everything else that was happening by the door.

Suddenly a small voice and presence was by her side, small arms encircling her waist. "Mama?" whispered Paulo, his voice catching in fear, not understanding a thing. She managed to lower one hand to his shoulders and pull him in close, but could not speak for a moment.

"It's all right, Paulo," she managed then. "Everything is going to be all right. Hush now. I'll explain later." He nodded, still bewildered but trusting, and buried his face in her skirt.

A minute later, after several more gasping breaths, and she had herself a bit more in hand. She was still bent over her son. "Paulo," she whispered, and he looked up at her again. She smiled shakily at him. "Your father lives. That bad man was wrong. He lives, and someday he will come home." She had never had any reservations about labeling de Soto that way to her son, young as he was. She wanted him to stay far, far away from the Alcalde.

Paulo's eyes widened, but his face remained solemn. She could tell he really didn't understand, any more than he had understood when they told him his father was dead. Diego was just a name to him, a character in the stories his mama told him at bedtime, alongside Zorro and many others. "Never mind," she whispered, hugging him one-armed again, and he snuggled close once more.

Straightening up, she raised her head then to find that Jaime had ushered the young woman across the room and was introducing her to Don Alejandro as the widow of some distant cousin of his, an army officer, who had died recently. "Sadly, he was killed in the same action that took my foot," he continued. _His foot? What?_ Victoria thought, then glanced down at his cane again. Jaime had been wounded, apparently; badly enough to be invalided out. He went on, "When I had recovered enough to travel, Diego and I agreed that I would bring her here to you."

Victoria gasped slightly at the repetition of her husband's name, this minuscule, second-hand glimpse of him living and acting in some far away place. She forced her attention back to Jaime again. He seemed relieved to have gotten through the story, and finished with a formal introduction of Don Alejandro de la Vega to Doña Marianna de la Cruz. _So that is her name._

Victoria finally managed to focus on the young woman, registering her as _very_ young – early twenties, she guessed – and very obviously pregnant, her belly huge on her tiny frame – even shorter than Victoria and many pounds lighter – or would be usually. She was as plainly dressed as Jaime, but moved smoothly and held herself, her back ramrod straight, with the aristocratic bearing Victoria had seen all her life dripping from the local dons and doñas – but surprisingly, without the same level of disdainful arrogance ruining her face. She had dipped into a practiced curtsy to Father, who, smiling broadly through his surprise, had returned the honor with an semi-formal bow before taking both her hands to raise her again.

"Welcome, cousin," he said warmly. "Of course I will take care of you. My home is your home," he added, managing to imbue the trite phrase with all the warmth he possessed, meaning every word.

"Getting a bit crowded in here, isn't it?" de Soto sneered from the doorway where he had been left standing all this time, frankly watching. The dog, Victoria suddenly noticed, had come across with his mistress and was now standing brushing against the back of her skirt, still facing de Soto menacingly. The canine definitely had the Alcalde's measure. She also noticed the other man, who had said nothing that she had heard, was standing with his back against the front wall next to the door, hat in hand, his head bowed – but he, too, was watching de Soto intently from under his brows.

Don Alejandro, having recovered his equilibrium somewhat, was having none of de Soto's snark. "No home, however unusual, is ever _too_ crowded for family," he said grandly. "But you wouldn't know that, would you, Ignacio," he said, adding to the subtle insult with the man's bare first name, "you have no family." His smile was blandly patrician. Victoria could have hugged him.

De Soto's twisting face showed he certainly felt the insult, but apparently decided to give up the fight for now, so with a last, disgusted snort, he turned on his heel and stomped out the front door.

_Everyone_ remaining blew out a relieved sigh as the room seemed to brighten and expand. Victoria saw the quick glance that passed between Jaime and Marianna before they both turned back to Father. Don Alejandro's attention was on the last man, still by the wall. "Is he with you?" he asked Jaime simply, nodding in that direction.

"Si," was the quick reply, smiling. "That is Gino, Gino Chavez."

"Then, Gino, would you mind shutting and barring that door? We are _closed _for the night_._" A puff underscored his relief.

Victoria's limbs finally unfroze, and she bent down, prying Paulo's arms off her waist, and picked him up, settling him on her hip. He was really too heavy for her to carry anymore, but she needed to hold him just then. As she walked unsteadily around the end of the bar with him, Don Alejandro turned to her, motioning with his head towards the patio. "I locked the back door. Is the kitchen door locked?"

She nodded. "It's safe. We're alone."

Jaime broke in, concerned, hooking a thumb upwards. "What about the rooms upstairs? Is anyone in them?"

"No," Don Alejandro told him simply. "We no longer rent those rooms out. We live there." Victoria saw the concern that flickered across their friend's face and knew its cause: their obviously reduced circumstances; but he said nothing. Gino returned from the front door and stood at Marianna's other shoulder, and the dog had finally relaxed as well and sat by her side, watching his mistress patiently.

Don Alejandro turned back to Marianna, whose hands he still held. "Now, my dear," he smiled at her, "since I do _not_ have any relatives named de la Cruz, which I think you know," he added shrewdly, "who are you really?" Victoria started a bit at that; what signals had she missed? But then shook her head and paid attention to the response.

Marianna smiled back at him warmly and spoke for the first time. "Please forgive us for including you in the Alcalde's deception, Don Alejandro. It was necessary." She spoke with a slight accent which Victoria did not recognize. Don Alejandro shook his head, dismissing the point, and she continued. "I am charged with telling you the truth, every bit. So it is my very great pleasure to tell you first of all that my husband – who is very much alive..." She paused, smiling even more broadly, enjoying what was to come. Victoria noticed both Jaime and Gino grinning, too, and watching Father for his coming reaction. Finally, Marianna gave in. "...is your adopted son, Felipe."

Both the de la Vegas were thunderstruck. "_Felipe?_" came out of both their mouths at the same moment, in the same tone. "Felipe lives?" Father went on, needing the confirmation, and she nodded.

Victoria was reeling again, from yet another rush of powerful emotion. That beautiful, silent, frightened little boy she had helped raise, who had disappeared all those years before... found again? Alive and well? And married, to this beautiful, self-contained young woman? A memory flickered, of asking herself if she were waiting for him to grow up, but she shook her head of it as she had done then. She had, she remembered, told herself that Felipe deserved a wife who adored him – and from the look on her face, Marianna did just that.

Said wife was speaking again, urgently. "The next thing I must do is ask your forgiveness for him, for the way he left. He thought you were dead," she said gently, "both you and Don Diego – from the earthquake. He believed he had seen your bodies. His mind was playing tricks on him, you understand. He did not discover the truth until he happened to run into Don Diego, just last year."

"I will never forget the look on both their faces, seeing each other again, each thinking the other dead," Jaime mused, and Don Alejandro turned to him.

"You were there?" Jaime nodded. "And... it is, truly, Felipe?"

"Yes. It is him. He is much changed... a man grown – and a leader of men – and with his voice back, by the way. But it is most definitely my little friend Felipe."

Something was off with that statement, Victoria thought, and a moment later she had it. Jaime had mentioned Felipe's voice, but not his hearing. _He knows Felipe could hear all along, and knows that we know._ She shook her head. _So many secrets. _Her arms were straining, and she swung Paulo around to sit him on the bar, keeping her arms around him as his stayed around her neck, using the motion to give herself a moment to recover from this latest shock. Even joyful ones can be too much, one after another.

"Please forgive him," Marianna was still urging Father to say the words on her husband's behalf. "That's why he did not come back, after he caught the horse. He thought he had nothing left to come back to," she ended simply.

Don Alejandro squeezed her hands, unable to speak for a moment. Then, tears again in his eyes, he said, "Of _course_ I forgive him," and she visibly relaxed – but only for a moment.

"The next thing I must tell you – " she began seriously, but then Jaime cut her off with a hand on her arm. When she – and everyone else – glanced at him, he jerked his chin slightly towards the bar – towards little Paulo. Marianna swiveled her head that way and gasped quickly, covering it a moment later by saying to Don Alejandro, "Forgive me. We can... go through everything later."

"I have never hidden anything from my son," Victoria said quietly, her voice very level and definite.

"Of course not," Marianna replied immediately. "But you decide what he is old enough to understand, do you not?" Her eyes on Victoria's were warm and kind, but full of unspoken – dangerous – facts.

_More secrets_, Victoria thought._ When will they end? _She glanced quickly at Paulo, but he wasn't paying attention to anyone, staring down at the dog with delight. _Well,_ flittered through her mind, _apparently his kitten isn't quite enough to keep him occupied._

"Forgive me, Don Alejandro," Jaime broke in then with an apologetic air, "but might I sit down for a while? My foot..." He waved his free hand downwards.

The older man broke free of his momentary paralysis, grabbing the distraction and instantly transforming back into the gracious host. "Of course," he replied, at last letting go of Marianna's hands with a quick squeeze and waving them all around the end of the bar. "Please, everyone, come into the kitchen. Have you eaten? We were about to sit down to dinner – " He broke off suddenly and asked Victoria, "Do we have enough?"

"Of course!" she laughed at him. There were _always_ leftovers in the cantina pots. She turned to lift Paulo down off the bar, but her young son had a different idea. He had been silent long enough, throughout all the talk he didn't understand and paid no attention to. Now he eagerly asked this pretty new lady, squirming out of his mother's grasp as his feet touched the floor, "May I please pet your dog?"

Laughing, Marianna gave him permission. "But thank you for asking – you must _always_ ask a dog's owner first, just in case. But my Chico is very friendly." She knelt on the floor beside the black dog. "Do you know how to meet a dog?" she asked Paulo, now crouching before them.

"No," he said, instantly concerned. Was he doing something wrong?

"Hold your hand out like this," she demonstrated with dangling fingers, "and let him sniff it. There. Now he knows your scent. Dogs live by their noses, you know, and can smell a hundred times better than we can. Every person smells a little bit different to a dog, and now he knows you. Now you can pet him, like this." She showed him how to stroke Chico's head and back, admonishing him not to pull on ears or tail. "But you would never do that, would you?"

"Of course not!" He was giggling, as Chico happily licked his hand, and then his face. "His name is Chico?" he asked, and Marianna confirmed it with a smile. "But what is your name, please?" he asked politely, having missed the introductions.

Marianna glanced quickly up at Victoria, who read her mind. Which relationship, real or assumed, were they going to explain to the young boy? Marianna shook her head quickly. It didn't matter. "Call me Tia Anna," she said kindly, and Victoria relaxed. Young children called adults Aunt This and Uncle That all the time, regardless of the actual relationship. Paulo even called his godfather Tio Orlando.

It wasn't until she was rising to her feet again (with Gino's helping hand) that Marianna glanced at Don Alejandro, and stopped dead, her own face turning white. "Oh! I am so sorry! I completely forgot!" she cried, distraught, then hurried to explain. "Don Diego told us you did not like dogs. But I forgot until just now! I am so sorry – I-I will keep him out of your way, I promise!"

Don Alejandro smiled – just a little forced – and broke into her protestations. "I think it's long past time I got over that. You say he is a good dog?"

"Yes, very good. He would never jump on you, or snap at family or friends."

Victoria watched, astonished, as Father leaned over carefully and extended his own hand to Chico, who – sensing the man's nerves – merely stretched out his neck for a quick sniff, then drew it back, seeming to give Father a friendly doggy smile. It wasn't that Don Alejandro didn't like dogs, she remembered; he was actually afraid of them, having been attacked by one as a small boy. But here he was, graciously taking the first step. Victoria pressed her lips together to hide a smile. _I think my new sister-in-law is going to be very good for us. I like her already._

"Good boy," Marianna praised the animal, then sent him to lie down out of the way. He followed them into the kitchen and selected a spot by the back door.

With Marianna's offered assistance, and little Paulo industriously setting out utensils while his grandfather poured wine and water, they were seated and served in no time; the two women on one side of the big kitchen table, Don Alejandro and Jaime with their backs to the cantina's public room, Paulo on one end between his mother and grandfather, grinning down the table at Gino at the other end. The last thing Victoria placed on the table, in front of Marianna, was a big bowl of olives. It wasn't until she sat down that she realized the silence, and looked around. Gino and Jaime were smirking at Marianna, who was staring at the olives, her eyes huge. She turned her gaze to Victoria and said quietly, "I have been craving olives _so_ much."

That end of the table burst out laughing, then, and Don Alejandro said grandly, "We have _several _olive groves around here, my dear – take as many as you want."

Marianna looked at him, eyebrows flaring, as if verifying the offer, then swiftly picked up the entire bowl and put it beside her own plate, snatching up a single olive and nibbling on it while gazing up at the ceiling with an exaggerated expression of innocence. Gino and Jaime burst out in guffaws at that, and she melted into giggles herself. Popping the rest of that olive into her mouth, she moved the bowl back into the middle of the table, picked up the two big serving spoons in the bowl and smoothly transferred a very large pile onto her plate, then put the spoons together and graciously offered them, handle first, to Gino on her left.

"Are you sure you have enough?" he teased, eyes twinkling.

"I can get more," she informed him with mock airiness, then giggled again as he relented and took the spoons.


	29. Chapter 29

_**Chapter Twenty-Nine**_

"How old are you now?" Gino asked down the table to Paulo.

"Almost four!" was the proud reply, and Gino's eyebrows shot up to meet his curly hair. The man was tall and lanky, with an easy, friendly smile and laughing eyes.

"Really? I would have thought you were six already, as tall as you are! Ah, but, your father is so very tall, isn't he?" He smiled at Victoria.

"You know my father?" Paulo asked eagerly.

"I do! I met him last year! But you know what?" Paulo shook his head. Gino pointed his finger at Jaime. "This man knows him even better. They have been the best of friends for a very long time – like brothers!" He held his two fingers up side by side to demonstrate.

"You do?" Paulo's eyes were even wider as he stared delightedly at Jaime, who nodded back with a proud smile.

"You should call him Tio Jaime," Victoria told Paulo, "and that is Tio Gino."

"I can tell you _many_ stories about your father," Jaime said.

"Is he coming home some day?" he asked plaintively. Victoria held her breath.

"Yes," was Jaime's solemn reply. "He wants to, very badly, but cannot just now."

"Are bad men keeping him away?"

Jaime took a breath, not looking away from the boy. "Yes," he nodded. "But they will not be able to do so forever. He will win in the end, and come home to you and your mother." His eyes flicked up to Victoria's, clouded with what she thought was apology. She had to look away as the questions came flooding back. _Why isn't he here now, then? What has happened? What else are they going to tell us?_ The memory of Jaime cutting Marianna off replayed quickly. _When Paulo is put to bed, I __will__ find out, _she promised herself firmly. _It won't be long._

Her hands had dropped into her lap as she stared at the far corner of the table, fighting back tears, but suddenly she felt Marianna's hand over them, squeezing them comfortingly. Her sister-in-law leaned forward slightly to speak to Paulo with a warm smile, covering the awkward silence.

"I know your father, too, Paulo. And I can tell you many stories. In fact, shall I tell you something now, that not even your mother knows?" The boy grinned with delight, and Victoria managed to plaster an interested smile on her face as she turned to listen. Marianna shot her a wink before going on. "Your father has held _many_ titles, but the one he holds now, he is especially proud of. He is the alcalde of our little village."

Paulo's reaction was not what she was hoping for, though; his face fell and his eyes grew round. "Alcalde?" he asked in a small voice.

A second later, Victoria divined the reason. The only alcalde he knew was de Soto. "Not like the one you know, Paulo," she said quickly. "That is a bad man, yes. But your father is _not_ a bad man." Inside, she was reeling again. _Diego, alcalde of a village? Isn't he a soldier? What?_

"Oh, no!" Marianna agreed, catching on instantly. "It's not the title that makes a man good or bad, it's the man himself." That might have been a little much for the boy to grasp. "Don Diego is a _very_ good alcalde. He takes care of his people, every day. He never hurts or steals from anyone. He makes sure, every day, that everyone has enough to eat, and a warm, dry place to sleep. And he protects all of us, from anyone who would try to hurt us." Paulo had brightened slowly, sitting up straight as he listened. Victoria nudged him to keep eating, and he did so absently, keeping his eyes on Tia Anna as she spoke.

"But you know what I admire most about him?" Marianna asked thoughtfully. Paulo shook his head. "It's the fact that whenever there is anything that needs to be done – anything at all, no matter what – Don Diego is the first one to jump in and get it done. I have seen him do _so_ many different things." She started listing them. "He has made furniture, and tools – and repaired them. He has even helped build houses. I have seen him plow, and plant, and harvest food – and do all the things to preserve food, too, to keep it for later – and even prepare food for eating. And he takes care of animals – I have even seen him milk a cow!" She paused. "In fact, he taught _me_ how to milk a cow!"

Paulo's eyes were huge again. "You can milk a cow?" he squeaked, astonished.

"I can! In fact, until we came here, I had a cow of my own, that I had to milk, twice a day! Oh, she was a stubborn thing!" Marianna shook her head, emphasizing the beast's intransigence. "Why, I couldn't even get her to go into the milking shed! But along came your father, and Thwack!" She clapped her hands together. "He whacked her on the hips, and in she went!" Everyone joined her peal of laughter at the mental image.

Then she sobered. "But my point is," she told Paulo – and his mother and grandfather, "that I admire that about him. That whatever needs to be done, he simply does it – and does his best. He is not afraid of getting his hands dirty, or of any manual labor. 'Don' or no, he is not the type to sit around and expect others to do things for him. I admire that," she repeated solemnly, then smiled at the boy.

Everyone was silent for a moment, absorbing this. Then Victoria murmured, "That's one of the things that drew me to him." She looked across at Diego's father. "That's why he became Zorro. Because he couldn't just sit around and watch, when things needed to be done." He nodded slowly, pride and love suffusing his beloved face. A moment later, she realized what she had said, and glanced swiftly at the newcomers – but their faces showed no surprise. They already knew, she realized.

She glanced down then, and saw Paulo's plate was empty. "Have you finished your supper? Then it is time for bed. Tell everyone good night."

He did so, proudly remembering the names of his new "aunt" and "uncles", then giving his Abuelo a hug and kiss. As she shooed him out the door, Victoria turned back to whisper with a smile under desperate eyes, "Please don't say anything important while I am gone!"

"If we do, we will repeat it," Marianna promised with a wink.

Gino had also risen from his seat. "I should be going, too – back to the Cordobas, to tell them what is going on."

Jaime nodded, then looked at Don Alejandro, who had confusion written on his face. "Another family also came north with us, the Cordobas. They are waiting back on the ranch – hiding in your barn, in fact. They are farmers, and have come to start a new life. Don Diego promised you would help them."

Diego's father smiled his assent. "Of course. I'll ride out in the morning to meet them, and get started."

"Come," said Victoria. "I'll let you out the front door."

* * *

Pajamas put on, prayers said – with special emphasis on the 'bless Papa' and naming each of his new family, even Chico (to his mother's amusement) – Paulo was tucked into bed and swiftly asleep. Returning to the kitchen twenty minutes later, she found the remaining three laughing fondly together.

"We were talking about the old country," Marianna said with a smile. "I came from Valencia, by the way – on the southwest coast." She pronounced it "Balenthia", and Victoria finally pegged her accent – she had been born and raised in Old Spain. Marianna and Don Alejandro, who had visited the city once, spoke of the orange and almond groves surrounding the city on three sides, the sparkling blue Mediterranean stretching away to the east. "The sailors say that during spring, they can smell the blossoms for miles out to sea," Marianna said wistfully. "I do miss the ocean."

"Well, we are only a few miles from the Pacific here," Don Alejandro told her, to her delight. Then he clapped his hands. "We will have a picnic there, on the beach, very soon."

"Like we used to," Victoria said with a tearful, smiling nod. They hadn't had one since Diego had been taken.

He nodded back, knowing her thoughts, but then he took a deep breath and turned serious again. Lifting the wine bottle, he began refilling everyone's glass. Victoria noticed then that someone – likely Marianna – had cleared away the dishes to the sink, leaving only the wine and things to nibble on. When he had finished, he looked solemnly at his new daughter-in-law. "Now, my dear. What was it you were about to tell me?"

She nodded. "There were many things left unsaid before, Don Alejandro." She glanced at Victoria, then Jaime, who nodded at her, making Victoria wonder again at his new gravitas, before turning back to their elder. "We are still charged – by both of them – with telling you both the truth. Much of it... may be very hard to hear." She took a deep breath and plunged in, speaking softly as if still concerned about being overheard. A moment later, the reason why was clear. "Your sons, as you might have guessed earlier, have joined forces after finding each other, and now fight together." She shook her head. "But not for Spain. They fight for Mexico. For freedom."

Victoria gasped, remembering Don Alejandro's long, bitter description of the trials he had experienced dealing with the Empire to obtain Diego's release, and his realization of the terrible, degraded state of Spanish society. How would he feel about this? Would he see it as betrayal?

He sat very still for a long, long moment, holding his breath. "They have joined the rebellion?" he asked softly, and she nodded.

"So did I," Jaime put in, surprising them both, "until I was wounded."

Don Alejandro absorbed this, then turned his head to look at Victoria. She could see the same memories playing behind his eyes, of his journey and disillusionment. What he saw in hers, she didn't know, but at last he nodded. "Gracias a Dios," he breathed. "Then they are both on the right side. I never thought I would hear myself saying this – and you understand," he added quickly to all of them, "I cannot say so publicly... but I find... that I can no longer support the Empire... or the crown. Not after..." He trailed off and shook his head. There was too much to say. "Not after these last few years," he ended simply.

Marianna looked at Victoria again, who simply nodded agreement. She did not have the words to explain her own complicated feelings – but she had always had much less loyalty to the crown than her in-laws, by virtue of her own experience, and not having been raised as an aristo.

"Is that the reason for the false name?" Don Alejandro guessed shrewdly, and Marianna nodded again, then grinned.

"Not entirely false – it was my girlhood name." Then she sobered. "But yes. To keep the Alcalde from putting things together. You see... my husband is a well-known partisan fighter. Not as 'de la Vega'... but by the nickname he was given. Nevertheless, we do not want de Soto to have too many clues. You see..." She took a deep breath. "Felipe is known as Capitán Halcón."

"Halcón?" Don Alejandro's voice was astonished. He reared back a little from her. "I _have_ heard that name – and many stories. Most of them not good."

"And most of them lies – or at least, exaggerations," Jaime put in with emphasis. He gently placed a hand on the other man's shoulder. "Don Alejandro, think of all the stories we used to hear about Zorro. Most of them were wrong, too." He grinned at their reaction to the name. "Yes, I know the truth. Diego told me everything – how he did it, how he pulled it off, with Felipe's help, but neither of you knew. The sword, the horse, the tunnel under the hacienda... which I would very much like to see some day," he added aside, bemused, before turning back. "I tell you these things so that you know that _I_ am telling the truth. The stories that have spread about the Capitán – Felipe – are mostly false. I rode with the Capitán this past year, proudly. He is an amazing fighter, fearless, cunning... but he is man of honor – just as you raised him to be. He is _not_ the monster those stories would make him."

Don Alejandro absorbed this, then slowly nodded. "All right. I am willing to take your word for it." Then he looked sharply at Jaime again. "You have changed, a great deal, amigo."

Jaime chuckled. "Yes, I have," he acknowledged, then patted his stomach. "And _not_ just around my middle."

Victoria felt more confused than ever. "But..." she began. "I don't understand." She looked pleadingly at Jaime. "What happened? Where is Diego? How did..." She cut herself off, then blurted out the most dire question of all. "And why did the army tell us you had both been..." She couldn't say the word.

Don Alejandro held up a hand to stop her spluttering, and turned to Jaime himself. "I think we need to hear the story now, amigo. From the beginning, please."

Jaime nodded with a smile, then picked up his water glass. "It's a long story," he said, before gulping it down. Marianna hurried to refill it from the pitcher.

"The truth, mi hermano," she said quietly to him. "We are both still charged." She glanced over at her two hosts and smiled shyly. "I will tell you all of Felipe's story – and mine – another time. They are also very long." Then she gave an odd, smiling grimace, adding to no one, "Aren't they all?"


	30. Chapter 30

_**Chapter Thirty**_

"Well," Jaime said. "The whole story." He stared at the table, seeming to gather his thoughts. "It was..." He licked his lips. "It was very bad." Suddenly he blew out a breath in exasperation. "Forgive me, both of you, for my language," he said quickly to Victoria and Don Alejandro. "It was _hell_, for _both_ of us – but especially for Diego." He shook his head at Victoria. "He was _never_ meant to be a soldier, mentally or physically. I'm sorry," he apologized for being so blunt, but she shook her head.

"I have thought the same thing. Please, just say what you must."

Still, he hemmed and hawed for another minute, then finally shook his head. "I am sorry. I am not going tell you everything about those years. Not anything, in fact. I do not want to remember them, the things we saw... the terrible things we were forced to do." He shook his head again. "There were _many_ times that I was not sure he would make it – or me."

"But you did, both of you," Marianna said softly, placing a hand on one of his. "And I have heard each of you say that you would not have made it without the other. You helped each other through."

He nodded. "That is very true. The only way we made it was together."

Don Alejandro then put his hand on Jaime's arm. "Amigo, you do not have to tell us anything. We understand."

Jaime nodded again, grateful. But then he took a breath. "I will tell you a couple of things, though. That very first day, riding in the wagon away from here – after some of the shock had worn off," he added wryly. "Diego asked for my advice. I had been through something like what we were facing before – although we both knew it would be much, much worse, and it was. But there were things I could tell him – the little tricks soldiers learn, to survive." He grinned suddenly at Victoria. "Things like washing your feet every day, and making sure they are dry before putting your boots on. It keeps the feet from rotting." He turned serious again. "But at the end, I told him two things – and yes, I know they are contradictory. The first things was, try not to think. About anything. Only react – just follow orders. Immediately, and to the letter. But don't think about it." He looked from one to the other. "Soldiers have the reputation for being stupid. Sometimes they have to be, to survive."

He picked up his wine glass again and took a sip. "The second thing, though, was this: always remember who you are. Pack it away deep inside, don't let officers see it, but remember. The men who come back from war broken inside, I told him, are the ones who forget who they are. So don't forget." He sat for a moment, nodding at his own memory. "And he did. He figured out how to do it. And it saved him. I believe that – I saw it. And after we... left the army," he grinned slightly for the wording, "it helped him come back to himself. That took a while, but he did." He paused again, considering. "He has changed, as I have. One cannot help it. He is quieter than he used to be. And sometimes, a little unsure. It is as though he were... feeling his way again, back in the civilian world. It is difficult, sometimes, to... know what is real." He looked at Marianna. "I think perhaps that is why he does so many of those jobs, that you admire. Sometimes... holding tools in your hands, and making things, _real_ things... help... anchor you in the real, physical world." He looked sideways at Don Alejandro. "Does that make sense?"

Don Alejandro nodded thoughtfully, but Victoria had put her hand over her mouth again, looking away and fighting back tears at this painful description of her husband's mental state. She couldn't reconcile this description with her Love. Would he ever be the same again? She suddenly felt Marianna's arm around her shoulders, and felt a tiny bit of comfort.

"I'm sorry," Jaime said suddenly to Victoria. "I am painting a very dire picture of Diego, but it is not that bad. _He_ is not that bad."

"Is that why he never wrote to me?" she whispered, her heartbreak on her face.

He shook his head. "The Spanish Army does not handle mail for its convict soldiers. He had no way of getting any message to you. Or receiving one _from_ you. Until now..." He looked meaningfully at Marianna sitting across from him, and she raised her eyebrows back saucily.

"Oh, is _this_ the right moment?" she asked cheekily.

"It would seem to be, since she asked," Jaime replied, seeming sententious until Victoria caught the slight smile on his lips. The two of them were apparently _very_ good friends who could tease each other.

Marianna looked down and fiddled with her skirt, pulling out of somewhere a small package – a letter on heavy paper, folded small and sealed – then turned and held it out to Victoria.

Victoria stared at it through her tears, unable to make herself reach for it, her hands instead flying up to cover her mouth again. That day, that evening, had brought so very many shocks, one after another, beginning with de Soto's half-assed proposal, that she didn't think she could handle any more. Not one more.

Marianna's face had fallen, turning to loving concern, and she swiveled slightly on her chair to face Victoria more fully. Her hand did not move, but the question showed on her face.

Victoria managed to pull her hands away enough to whisper brokenly, "Please tell me it doesn't say goodbye."

"Of _course_ not! He _lives_ for you!" came the immediate, stout reply.

"Then why did he not come home – with you?" Her eyes went from Marianna's to Jaime's, imploring.

Jaime's face was tragic. "Because he can't," he answered plainly. "Unless he receives a wound like mine, or had finished his sentence and gotten a discharge... he would be shot on sight, as a deserter."

"But that's not true," Don Alejandro broke in, shaking his head. "He isn't. Neither of you are. You are free, Jaime. Both of you!" As Jaime turned bewildered eyes on him, Don Alejandro placed his hand once more on the man's shoulder. "Jaime, I went all the way to the _king. _I have his signature, his seal, on two documents in my safe right now. They declare you are both _innocent_, that you were wrongly convicted and sentenced, and ordering your _immediate_ release from service, upon receipt of those documents! You are _free! _And so is Diego!" Jaime was shaking his head, still bewildered, and Don Alejandro knew it was going to take a bit more explanation. He said ruefully, "I took them to the army headquarters in Mexico City, but they said they had no idea where you two were – not even what battalion you had been assigned to, even whether you were still in Mexico. Some stupidity about records being burned in a fire. They were _looking_ for you," he snorted disgustedly. "I had to return home, but I had an agent there heading the search. But before you were found," he shifted uncomfortably, "we received that dispatch, about your _executions_." He desperately wanted to ask about that, but waved it aside for the important part. "The point is, Jaime, that you are innocent, and so is Diego, by declaration of the king!"

This was a whole lot for _anyone_ to absorb quickly, and they all watched as Jaime stared at the table, thinking it through. But then, astoundingly, he began shaking his head again. "No. I'm sorry, Don Alejandro... but it doesn't matter. Those orders were not received by our commander before we... left."

"But of course it matters!" Marianna cried softly. "It _has _to matter!" She turned to Don Alejandro. "When were they signed by the king?"

"Marianna, no!" Jaime cut her off. "It _doesn't... matter._" Taking a breath, he explained simply. "Military orders are _not effective_ until they are _received._ And our commander did not receive them in time. That's all there is to it. Officially, Diego and I are both... deserters. And traitors, because we went over to the enemy." Victoria felt the last words like an icicle stabbing through her heart. _Deserter? Traitor? Diego? No... that is not possible!_ Marianna had set Diego's letter on the edge of the table, between them, and Victoria was trying not to stare at it. She still didn't dare reach for it.

Marianna glanced aside for a moment with an exasperated huff. "No," she said pointedly, "_officially_, you are both dead. Executed. At least, according to that dispatch."

Jaime shut his mouth with a snap and raised his eyebrows, considering that. He looked flummoxed, which was nothing compared to Victoria's bewilderment. She was beginning to wonder if she would _ever_ feel she understood this situation again.

Jaime turned to Don Alejandro. "Did you see that dispatch, señor?"

"It wasn't a dispatch, it was a letter, addressed to me – de Soto intercepted it and read our mail. It's also in my safe," he gestured towards the office next door.

"And are you certain that it was genuine? From headquarters, in Mexico City?"

"Yes," Don Alejandro said unwillingly. "Teniente Vargas – he came about a year ago, and is in charge of the garrison now. He's a good man," he said by way of explanation, remembering that Jaime had never met Vargas. "He examined it, and said it was genuine. Besides, the agent I spoke of sent another letter a couple of weeks later confirming it."

"What did they say, exactly? What details do you remember?"

Don Alejandro shook his head. "The first one said very little more than the bare bones. You had both been executed, on those charges, the previous May, and that your graves were unknown. That's it. My agent's letter only said that those details came from a report from some soldier, after his – your – company had been destroyed in battle. He was the sole survivor." He shrugged. "That's all we knew until tonight."

"That doesn't make any sense," Jaime commented, and Don Alejandro lost his temper.

"NONE of this makes any sense!" he snapped. "What in god's name happened down – wherever it was?"

"I will tell you," Jaime said reassuringly. It would have been more effective if it hadn't also been absently. He looked back at Marianna as if she held the answer to the puzzle. "How did they know? Who was..." The answer hit him with an "oof", and he rolled his head, and then slapped the table. "Pedrona," he said disgustedly.

"Who?" Marianna said the question on everyone's mind.

"The soldier in the barn, at the new farm?" he prompted cryptically, and she gasped.

"But who was he?"

"Our corporal. Every bad thing that happened to us," Jaime paused, and did something strange, holding up his right hand as if clenching something, "_he_ was behind."

Marianna had gasped. "You mean, _he_ was the one...?" He nodded, and her hands flew to her mouth in horror. Then she shook her head. "So he escaped the attack?"

"And went back to the army. He told us as much, in the barn. It must have been _his_ report. Only he didn't stick around long enough to see that we had survived the execution." Jaime's expression was wryly disgusted.

Don Alejandro had taken enough of the mystery, and he pounced on the last word. "_WHAT? _Execution? You mean you... and Diego... _were_...?"

"About to be executed, yes," Jaime replied calmly. "Only we weren't, obviously."

"I think perhaps you had better tell that story now," Marianna observed wryly. Victoria couldn't help but agree.


	31. Chapter 31

_**Chapter Thirty-One**_

"Last year, in the spring," Jaime began, "our company was marching through the mountains – it doesn't matter where – burning and pillaging. We found out later that the colonel was trying to lure out the partisans in the area. Diego and I never took part in the pillaging," he added quickly, "but quietly; nobody noticed. Until one day, we reached one particular valley." He paused, smiling at a rare good memory. "It was one of the most beautiful places I have ever seen – trees, meadows... steep wooded slopes. But the colonel was furious. He knew people lived in that valley, but he couldn't seem to find them. So, he stopped us all in a meadow, and ordered a huge bonfire be lit. Then, he lined us all up and brought us all to attention again... and ordered that every one of us should make a torch, and start setting fire to the forest. He intended to burn the entire valley – trees, meadows, houses, people. He didn't care. 'Burn them all out', he said."

His listeners, Marianna, Victoria, and Don Alejandro, sat with their mouths open, aghast at this horror. Jaime turned and looked at the elder man. "But Diego... just stood there at attention, and said, 'no'. He would not do murder, he said." He paused, remembering, a slight smile on his lips. "I was _proud_ to stand beside him, and refuse to do this evil thing. We weren't alone, either – several other men from our squad stood there, too."

"But the colonel... knew exactly how to nip that kind of insurrection in the bud. Execute the leaders. And he knew that Diego and I were the leaders, so he ordered the rest to stand down, and ordered that we be executed, right then and there, no need for a courtmartial. So they blindfolded the two of us, tied our hands behind our backs, and stood us in front of the cliffs. The rest of the company stood at attention on three sides of the square, to watch." His sparse, quick telling of the story left them no time to really absorb it.

"The execution squad was selected and lined up. Ready... Aim..."

He paused, dramatically, then a sly smile spread across his face. He turned to Don Alejandro, sitting on his left. "And guess what happened."

Bewildered, fascinated despite himself, Don Alejandro could only shake his head. Jaime turned to Victoria, but she likewise was clueless. Marianna, however, was grinning, as he raised his eyebrows at her.

"The sound of a whistle," she said, eyes bright.

"The sound of a whistle," he agreed, "as loud as anything, echoing from one side of the valley to the other. A whistle that sounded like the cry of a gigantic hawk." He paused. "And then gunfire."

"El Halcón," said Don Alejandro, remembering all those stories about the partisan warrior.

"El Halcón," Jaime agreed. "That is how he signals to launch the attack. We didn't know, of course, that he and his company were there, on the hills above us. And _he_ did not know that _we_ were there, of course." He paused, flashing a satisfied grin across the table. "The colonel had wanted to flush out the partisans, after all. He didn't realize what storm he was calling up."

"Be careful what you wish for..." Marianna murmured, quoting the old saying, and Jaime grinned again and nodded before continuing.

"Diego and I hit the dirt – we were too tightly bound to get loose; we would have been stumbling around blind. The only thing we could do, Diego said, was to just lie there and pretend to be dead, until it was over, and then we would manage to get away. So that is what we did. Most of the company, we found out later, ran into the woods, frightened out of their wits from all those wild, crazy stories. Some stayed, and died. We lay there, trying our best not to move, even breathe, and listened. And finally, the gunfire died away, and we heard men and horses begin to come across the field. The partisans had come scavenging. 'Stay still,' Diego said, and so we did."

He turned again to the two de la Vegas. "Guess what gave us away?" They both shook their heads, and his grin grew even wider. "Toronado," he said gleefully.

"The horse? Zorro's horse?" Victoria gasped. _That_ had been about the _last_ thing she'd expected.

Jaime nodded. "Felipe still rides him – only he calls him Diablo, now. He smelled Diego from across the field, I guess, and came over to nudge at him, trying to get him up. We heard a man ask, 'Diablo, what are you doing?' Then two men came over, 'Capitán, these two are not dead!' So we were hauled up onto our knees, and the blindfolds ripped away... and there he was, his jaw scraping the dirt in surprise."

"Felipe!" breathed his father, and Jaime nodded again.

"Felipe. He and Diego just stared at each other – and then he started talking. 'No, you're dead, I saw you!' That was when we learned what he had seen that day, why he had left." He shook his head. "I don't know what was more shocking: Felipe there, Felipe talking... or a few minutes later, when we finally realized that he wasn't _riding_ with El Halcón, he _was_ El Halcón." He shook his head again, grinning at the memories, which surely hadn't been funny at the time.

"So, he gave us a choice: come away with his company, or stay there and let the next Spanish Army commander come and finish our executions." He shrugged. "It wasn't really much of a decision. I told Diego later, our futures with the army were not exactly promising at that point."

"So you both joined the partisans." Don Alejandro summed it up.

"Not right away. We did ride away with them, and returned to their home village. I joined officially a few days later, and rode with the Capitán." Victoria noticed then how often Jaime referred to Felipe by his title. He turned completely serious, explaining directly to her, "Diego never did. He had done all the fighting he ever would, he said. And he has never fought a moment since. It took him a while to... to relax, and recover himself. He stayed in the valley, in the village – the Capitán put him in charge of defenses, which he said he could do – and _did_ do, very well. And a while later, named him Alcalde. He is still doing that now, even though we left that village this past winter and moved to new farms further south, following the armies to war."

"Our village," Marianna explained, "consists of the wives and children of the guerilleros who follow El Halcón. Don Diego is the alcalde, and the protector, of all of us. He watches over the families, and every few weeks, he and two others take several pack horses of food and supplies to the company." She turned to Victoria. "It is very dangerous work, especially for him, as he must often sneak through enemy lines, at the risk of capture – and execution, if he is identified. I do not want you to think him a coward, because he does not fight."

"He always tried not to fight, even as Zorro," Victoria replied slowly, remembering. It was one of the things she had loved about her masked admirer. "It was a last resort, and never – almost never – fatal, or even causing injuries. He sought to embarrass the other side, instead, and win whatever the argument was, protect those who could not protect themselves, that way." She shook her head to clear it. "We've gotten away from the point," she said directly to Jaime. She still needed answers. "Why can't he come home?"

"Because he runs the risk of being shot, either on sight or after being arrested, by de Soto – _if_ he manages to find out the truth. And the truth is, that we deserted, and went over to the enemy – before the orders for our innocence and release were ever received by our commander." He shrugged. "It almost doesn't matter whether it would be to finish the aborted execution for mutiny, or for desertion. De Soto hates Diego far worse than he hates me – and you saw him with me, earlier. He would kill me, too, if he thought he had reason. He would kill Diego – and this time, make absolutely certain of him – in a heartbeat. He might not even wait to put it together."

He took a deep breath, still thinking. "Which means," he went on, turning toward Marianna, "that you are going to have to continue to be known as the widow de la Cruz, Don Alejandro's cousin."

She shrugged. "It doesn't matter. What could he do to me? Nothing. _You_ are in far more danger than I am, mi hermano," she said, placing a hand over his on the table. "You shouldn't stay. You should go back, with Gino."

Jaime raised his head sharply at that. "No. Absolutely not. I gave my promise to the Capitán that I would bring you here, and stay to guard you – and your baby – until he can come." He shook his head, hard. "I will _not_ go back on that promise."

"Oh! You risk your life, hermano! You put yourself in danger!"

"That is the _point_, Señora! That _I_ face the danger, so that _you_ do not!" He shook his head again. "I am staying!"

Marianna crossed her arms across her chest and huffed disgustedly, looking aside. "Stubborn!" she hissed, but Jaime only raised his brows at her.

"_Thank_ you," he said, very nearly formally. Victoria found her mouth was trying to smile a little at the pair of them, fussing like the old friends they had obviously become.

Marianna finally turned back to Jaime. "So what _will_ you do?"

He took a deep breath and thought for a long while, sipping his wine again. "I think the best course for me to take," he said slowly, "will be to simply say nothing. Nada. To anyone." He looked at the others. "Outside of us four, I will not say a word to anyone about my experiences away, in the war. My memories are too terrible, I will say; I do not want to share them. That's not even wrong. No company names, no battalion, no commanders or officers, no battles, locations, or even regions. Nothing. That way there will be nothing for him to piece together. He will never learn the truth."

"What if he writes to headquarters, asking for more information?" Victoria wanted to know.

Jaime shook his head again. "They would tell him nothing. Besides, according to the letter from your agent," he looked at Don Alejandro, "there is nothing more to say, no other details. But an inquiry from a civilian, way up here in a tiny pueblo so far away from anything – they would simply ignore it. They are far too busy these days. If the Teniente were to write, perhaps...?"

It was Don Alejandro's turn to shake his head. "I do not think he would ever have reason to do so. He is a good man, like I said. He would not look into it."

"Then it is settled. De Soto will never find out. I will be quite safe."

"And Diego?" Victoria asked pointedly, returning to the main point.

Jaime gazed at her sadly. "The only way he can return," he answered slowly, "is if Mexico wins, and becomes independent. Then it won't matter _what_ his – our – crimes against the Army of New Spain might ever have been. They will be wiped away."

"Can't he simply wait until his sentence runs out? It was only for five years, and it's been four already," Don Alejandro asked, causing a flare of hope in Victoria's heart.

Jaime shook his head, extinguishing the hope. "It is officially war, now. All enlistments, voluntary or not, are automatically extended until it is over. Even the sentences of convict soldiers," he said softly. He licked his lips, and repeated, "He must wait for Mexico to win."

"And if Spain wins?" Victoria asked tremulously, not really wanting to hear the answer.

But it was Marianna who replied. She turned to Victoria and put a hand on her arm. "Then he will meet us – _both_ of them will meet _both_ of us – _all_ of us, whoever can come," she amended, glancing at Father, "at the place where Diego first found Felipe – the pueblo of Marenga. We came through it on our way north; it is easy to find. They will both come there, as soon as the war is over. And if we are not there, they will make their way here, in disguise if need be. But they _will_ come." Her voice was as full of certainty and reassurance as she could make it.

"Then we will _all_ be there, if it comes to that," said Don Alejandro. He looked at Victoria. "I would rather leave everything behind and start over with nothing, as long as we are all together. It would not be the first time a de la Vega had to start over, and probably will not be the last. But family is everything. And until then," he added, turning his head to include both Marianna and Jaime, "I will take care of _all_ of you, for _both_ my sons."

Victoria's head was spinning again, from all the long series of shocks and surprises of the evening, everything she had learned about her missing husband. Covering her face briefly with both hands, she took a deep breath and closed her eyes, then pulled her hands together before her lips as if praying. She sat that way for several long seconds, looking for the courage just to keep going, to keep waiting for the end. _Diego lives_ echoed again. _He is alive. And some day, he will come home – or meet me in Marenga. _She tried very, very hard to believe it.

Slowly, her head began to nod, and she opened her eyes to give the nod to Father. "All right," was all she said.

Marianna squeezed her arm again then, and when Victoria turned her head that way, she was once more holding Diego's letter out to her. Gasping slightly, Victoria managed to reach out and take it that time, then tears began to threaten again as she felt its solidity, proof of its existence, of _his_ existence, against her fingers.

"No, don't cry," Marianna said softly, then reached with both arms to pull Victoria into a hug, and she sagged against her shoulder. "Hush, my sweet sister," Marianna whispered in her ear, far too softly for the men to hear. "You _will_ see Diego again. You will be in his arms, and spend the rest of your lives together, as I will with Felipe. I am certain of this, as certain as I am of the sun rising." Her voice was strong and sure, and full of vision.

"Please, Santa Maria, let it be so," Victoria whispered into her shoulder.

"It will be. You will see."

Victoria sat upright, stiffening her back to match the younger woman's perfect posture. She managed a weak smile. "I never had a sister before."

A wide, welcoming smile claimed Marianna's mouth. She leaned forward, and kissed Victoria formally on both cheeks. "You do now."


	32. Chapter 32

_**Chapter Thirty-Two**_

The next morning Victoria woke with the dawn, as usual, huddled in her bed upstairs in the cantina under the extra-large quilt she used to share with Diego, listening to the dawn chorus of birdsong. She automatically raised her head to check on Paulo in his little bed across the room: he was curled on one side sound asleep, so she lay back down, turning her head to look at the slowly growing light outside the window. Her eyes felt overloaded with sleep sand, and she lifted her hands to rub at them, stopping abruptly when she registered something clutched in her right. As she focused on the flat triangle of folded paper, a nearly electric shock zinged from her hand to her brain. _Diego's letter. _And with the words, memory of the previous evening came flooding back into her sleep-befuddled mind.

The four of them had stayed up until past midnight, talking around the kitchen table – it was the first time, she had realized at one point, that the big table her father had made had ever been so full, with family gathered all around it. When they finally called it a night, she had put Jaime and Marianna up in two rooms in the hotel block, the dog Chico padding obediently behind his mistress, and planned aloud to rearrange them all for comfort and security the next day. When she finally crawled under her quilt, she had brought the still-unopened letter with her, intending to read it by candlelight – but had surprised herself by bursting into quiet tears, the long day's endless series of emotional shocks finally catching up with her. _Apparently I cried myself to sleep_, she realized, having no memories after that moment and feeling the dried salt tracks on cheek and temple.

She rubbed the sleep sand out of both eyes, then brought the letter close to examine it, flipping it over briefly to see nothing written on either side; he had trusted Marianna to deliver it only to her. She automatically looked at the shorter sides of the triangle to find the one holding the edge and flap tucked underneath. Then she gasped, stilling her hands as her sleep-addled brain supplied the reason. Diego had learned how to fold paper into this shape when he was only eight, and had taught her, too; they had used it to pass notes for years until he left for Mexico City. His use of it now was as good as a signature. She peered closely at the opening: there it was. They had always put a tiny X across the edge on both bits of paper, so they would know if anyone else had tried to open it. She looked again and smothered a teary grin: he had changed the X into a Z. This note had not been tampered with, but the discolored and roughened edges showed it had been carried by Marianna for quite some time.

Working carefully so as not to tear it, she drew out the flap, then unfolded the paper, smoothing it flat on the quilt. It was a single sheet, apparently torn out of a notebook judging from the one rough edge, writing on just one side. She sat up and leaned against the window to read it by the growing daylight. The writing was small and close together, and looked strained in places, but it was most definitely Diego's penmanship, so familiar to her from all those letters to his correspondents that she had read at the hacienda. She read slowly, savoring each word, "hearing" them in his own voice as she had before.

_My darling – my heart, my soul, my life –_

_Please forgive me for not writing to you before. This is the first time since I left that I have held paper, or had a way to get it to you. There are so many things I am desperate to say, but I only have this one sheet, and they will be leaving soon. The ones who carry it will have told you all that has happened, so I will not waste words on that._

_You are so very far away, but you are right here, every minute of every day, in my head and in my heart. I close my eyes and see your face, your lovely smile, that look in your eyes, your hair loose, your cheeks ablush. At night I feel you in my arms: we are standing close, our arms around each other, our hearts so close they beat as one, your head on my shoulder, tucked under my chin. I smell your hair, and feel it on my cheek. The scent of gardenias, your perfume, fills me with longing._

_I do not mention the news you gave me on that last morning; I dare not let myself think about it. So many things could have happened, so many possibilities for tragedy, that to think about it, to celebrate, to plan – the pain becomes unbearable, and it feels like tempting fate, and I tempt her too much by constantly thinking about you. I cannot help that, you are always with me. I dare not do more._

_Please, I beg you, send a letter, a message back to me. Let me know that you are there. It is the not knowing that is hardest, painful – impossible. But if I know you are there, then I can keep going. I am working to get home. I live for that. I will see you again, and hopefully very soon, but I can make no promises when. But know that you are everything to me. They are packing the wagon, and I am out of room, so I will close. Know that you have all of my love, for all of my life, and I live each day with but one hope: that soon I will be with you again._

It was signed with a single, fancy, cursive D, squeezed into the last bottom corner. Then Victoria looked closely at his initial and smiled: very faintly, in pencil (the rest was black ink), he had drawn three disconnected lines; just below each horizontal, and diagonally through the space, looking like an odd shadow – but forming the letter Z.

She read the letter over again, slowly, savoring each word and committing it to memory, then carefully refolded it exactly as it had been, tucking the flap back into place. From that day she would carry it on her always, for luck. Laying back down again, she held the letter and the locket with his hair together above her heart, letting the thoughts come and emotions wash over her as they would.

_Diego lives. He is alive. And someday soon, we will be together again._ She had, without thinking about it, grabbed on to Marianna's quiet yet steely confidence in that regard and let it augment her own flagging determination. _He's been badly wounded, not in body but in spirit._ She longed to hold him, to love away his troubles. She had never felt so helpless as she did now, so very far away from him – not even knowing where he was. She thought of Jaime's description of how Diego had struggled to find himself again in the days immediately after the interrupted execution – but that had been months before, and it seemed he had come to at least some peace since then, through sheer hard physical labor if nothing else. She would have to ask Jaime some pointed questions about that. She smiled then, at the title _Alcalde Diego de la Vega_, even if over only two or three dozen citizens. _That would twist de Soto's breeches in a knot!_ She smothered a giggle at the thought, checking Paulo again to make sure he still slept.

_And Felipe, back from the dead._ She shook her head. She couldn't reconcile the silent, eager, hardworking teenager she had known with this new creature, this partisan warrior Capitán Halcón. A fighter. A killer. Jaime's voice played again, "He is a man grown, a leader of men... an amazing fighter, fearless, cunning... a man of honor... not a monster..." Well, those last two she could certainly believe. The boy she had helped raise would never be a monster; and a de la Vega, even an adopted one, would be a man of honor. She had never heard all those stories about him which obviously bothered Father, and so dismissed them effortlessly. And he was adored by his beautiful young wife, that was obvious. She shrugged. _I'll just have to wait, and judge this man for myself when he comes_. That he _would_ come for his wife and child, as soon as he could, she had no doubt. _Now that he knows,_ she added, remembering Marianna's pleas for Father's forgiveness and the reason, _that he does have something to return to._

Jaime, now, _that_ was a surprising change. No longer the genial clown who was friends with everyone, he had been toughened by his experiences, and had a surprising new authority. Oh, he had been the second in command of the garrison before, but the two alcaldes he had served under had never let him have any voice or power. She wondered suddenly if the clown hadn't been merely a mask itself. _Something_ in the man had pushed him up through the ranks, to make sergeant before he ever arrived in Los Angeles. _Perhaps we are now seeing him as he used to be, before Alcalde Ramone and then Alcalde de Soto crushed it out of him._ She sighed. Another conundrum, impossible to solve. But she now confessed to herself that she quite liked the new Jaime Mendoza with his quiet confidence.

But it didn't hold a candle to how she felt about her new sister-in-law. (Diego had begun referring to Felipe as his brother shortly after the earthquake, when Father at last made the adoption official, and she had thought of him the same way since. Apparently, from what Marianna had said, the two brothers had settled into that relationship since finding each other, drawing the two women along.) She had been instantly drawn to Marianna, watching the tiny, delicate young woman swiftly, yet carefully wend her way into Father's affections – and Paulo's – and her own. Thinking of how both men had watched and deferred to her, Victoria realized she obviously held Jaime's and Gino's admiration. She had the manners and graces Victoria had recognized – and attempted to copy before her marriage – in the Doñas who came to town occasionally, lifting their noses at the _tavern girl_ her whole life. But she had none of their arrogance or bigotry, Victoria realized – that was what had been missing from her bearing as she was introduced to Father. _Besides,_ she thought cheekily, _anyone who can train a dog into obedience like she has Chico is several rungs above anyone else!_ She thought again of her initial assessment, that Marianna was going to be good for them all, and nodded.

_And I am glad to have a sister._ She remembered the moment Marianna had called her that, the quiet feeling of affection and connection that had threaded through her heart, and smiled. She had never quite glimpsed until that moment how much she had missed, being an only child. Remembering Diego's plea to have several children of their own, she could only agree all over again. _It is going to be so much better, and easier, from now on, with a cantina full of family._

* * *

Coming downstairs a half hour later with Paulo, washed and dressed, she unlocked the doors onto the patio to find Jaime and Marianna already sitting at one of the outside tables (along with a few of their other hotel guests) ready to begin their new lives. There followed a busy morning, making breakfast for the guests and snatching some for themselves, starting the food for the day's later menus, cleaning the cantina and getting it ready to open. Marianna had said the night before that she did not want to be any burden her new family; that she would do anything she could to help out – "short of selling myself," she added with direct sincerity.

Victoria had smiled back. "Not to worry, that will _never_ happen – not at my cantina," and Marianna had sighed in relief. Then Victoria turned her smile to Jaime across the table. "As for you, Señor Mendoza... how would you like to be a bartender again?" Jaime had grinned and accepted the offer at once – "As long as I can sit down once in a while," he added, gesturing to his foot. He had explained to Victoria, since she had missed it before, that he had stepped on a mine and lost the front half of his right foot. Diego, a few yards away and thus able to operate immediately, had saved his life, and his leg.

"No problem," Don Alejandro replied, saying they would find a stool to put behind the bar; Jaime could sit on it whenever he liked. Victoria knew he wouldn't require much training, as he had done the job for several weeks after de Soto had drummed him out of the Lancer Corps, before her church wedding to Diego. And they could absorb the expense, she quietly reassured Don Alejandro's later whispered question, due to their growing stream of customers and steadily-improving finances over the preceding months and years. The growth of the pueblo over the past decade had brought a measure of prosperity to the Cantina Victoria, even with the competition from Tonio's rougher saloon.

Don Alejandro usually slept a little later; he made his morning appearance while they were cleaning, ate his small breakfast, then left to ride to the hacienda to greet the new family which had come north with Jaime, taking Paulo along for the ride on his pony. Cantina swept and tables wiped, the two newcomers watched quietly as Victoria performed her morning ritual: pouring a new shot of the best whiskey, she wiped a tiny taste of it on the lips of a clay statue sitting on the top shelf above the bar, saluted it with a tiny sip herself, whispered a prayer for peace to all who enter the cantina, then offered an Ave to the statue of the Virgin next to it and crossed herself. As she turned back, Marianna asked who the first statue was.

"Hutash. She is an earth goddess of the Indio tribe that used to live here. My father had several friends among them, and they gave her to him when he opened the cantina, to watch over it and bring him luck. He started that ritual every morning, and taught it to me." She didn't tell them that her fired manager, Tonio, had stopped doing it, had even put bottles of whiskey on the shelf in front of the two statues; moving those bottles out of the way and cleaning statues and shelf thoroughly had been one of her first determined acts of reclamation. A memory hit her then, and she turned back, climbed briefly back up on the little stool, and gingerly picked up the three coins sitting on the shelf before the Virgin, bringing them to Marianna.

"These two coins were the very first ones Papa took in, the first day he opened the cantina. And this one..." she grinned, "...was from your husband, Felipe." At Marianna's astonished look, she laughed and told them the story of the teenager using one of the first coins he had ever earned – from her – to purchase a beer, then proudly standing before the bar to drink it. She had decided to keep the coin with the other two for luck.

They opened the front door for business a short time later, and the women retreated to the kitchen to make the day's tortillas, letting Jaime handle the customers from his new stool – the talk would be all about him, anyway, as each newcomer recognized him and asked the inevitable astonished questions about him and Diego. They could hear the chatter through the open doorway as just that happened, over and over. Jaime stuck to his very brief cover story: he had lost his foot to a mine, was invalided out and came home; yes, Don Diego still lived; he had no idea why headquarters had said they were dead; he had no stories from the war as he wished to simply forget everything. Since men kept coming in and interrupting, necessitating the restarting of the litany every few minutes, no one got the chance to probe further.

Marianna leaned over to Victoria as they patted the corn masa into rounds for later frying. "Did you get a chance to read the letter?" she asked. To Victoria's sideways astonished glance, she hastened to reassure her. "Oh, no, I have no idea what is in it. That's not why I asked." She took a breath, considering. "But I am going to tell you something else. Don Diego probably would not want me to, but I am going to anyway. I think you should know. When Don Diego handed me that letter to bring to you, he told me that he was trusting me to make a crucial decision. That if you were here, waiting for him, to give it to you, of course. But if you were not – if you had found someone else, and could not wait, but had... moved on... that I was _not_ to give you the letter, but burn it unread. But I was to tell you, if I could, that he understood, and forgave you, that he would never say or do anything against you." She paused a moment, watching Victoria's face as she reacted in shock. "The most important thing to him is your happiness," she ended, then turned and picked up a bucket of dirty water to carry it outside.

Victoria slowly finished patting out the tortilla, thinking about this latest revelation. Diego just wanted her to be happy. Suddenly she stopped cold, the tortilla dropping onto the board from suddenly nerveless fingers. "Oh, no!" she gasped, her hands flying up of their own accord to cover her mouth.

For the first time in twenty-four hours, she had finally remembered Orlando.


	33. Chapter 33

_**Chapter Thirty-Three**_

_Orlando!_ Victoria thought desperately. _He doesn't know! I have to tell him about Diego, right away, so that he doesn't..._ She couldn't finish the thought.

She snatched up the towel and wiped her hands, thinking hard. _If only Father were here, he could ride out with a message..._ but he had gone to their hacienda. Could she leave Jaime and Marianna in charge of the cantina for an hour or two, and ride out herself? Marianna came back into the kitchen at that moment, caught Victoria's worried – nearly frantic – expression and stopped, concerned. Victoria made a quick decision and opened her mouth to ask if the younger woman could handle it –

– and then it was too late. From the big room came yet another astonished _"Mendoza?"_ but this time in a voice Victoria instantly recognized. She heaved a breath, then stepped quietly to the door and looked through it at Don Orlando, standing on the other side of the bar, listening to Jaime's now-practiced repetition of his very short story. She knew him well enough now to see the tight rein he was holding on his expression, keeping it to friendly interest.

"And Don Diego?" he asked lightly. "He still lives as well?"

"Oh, yes, he still lives," was Jaime's reply. He shrugged. "I have no idea why the army said we were dead. The confusion of war, I suppose." One corner of Victoria's mind had to admire her friend for the ease in which he kept repeating the lies.

"It must be," Don Orlando replied to his last comment. "Well, congratulations, and welcome home, Señor." He offered his hand across the bar and Jaime shook it with a smile before turning to the others gathered there.

Orlando glanced over and spotted Victoria in the doorway, and walked tentatively around the crowd to stand before her. "So you are _not_ a widow, after all," he said softly, confirming.

"No," she replied as softly. "I'm sorry you were surprised like this, Orlando. They only arrived last night. I was just trying to think how to get a message to you. I didn't want you to think..."

"What?" he asked quietly when her voice trailed off.

"I never meant to lead you on. I would never want to do that."

A soft, bittersweet smile touched his lips. "But your heart has not changed."

Her hand had crept up without her realizing it to tenderly hold the locket. "No," she whispered. "I am still Diego's wife."

He nodded, as graciously as he could. "Am I still Paulo's godfather?" he asked, only half joking.

"Of course! That will never change."

"Good. Then may I take him out for a ride?" He was trying very hard, she could see, to act as if everything was normal.

"He's not here. He rode out to the hacienda with his grandfather this morning."

"Ah." He thought a moment, making a lightning-fast decision. "Well, perhaps I'll ride out that way myself. I would like to speak to Don Alejandro about something."

"May I ask what?" She tried to match his supposed nonchalance.

He looked at her seriously, a bit of the pain he must have been feeling seeping through his eyes. "I think I will make a journey up to Monterrey – business," he shrugged self-deprecatingly. "I have been putting it off for far too long. But I think that a few weeks away..." It was his turn to trail off. "I will ask Don Alejandro if he would look in on the ranch while I am gone."

Victoria nodded, trying as hard as he to keep the conversation normal. "I'm sure he would." She couldn't keep it up, though. "I'm sorry," she said in the merest whisper, her face tragic. She had never wanted to break his heart, either.

He gazed at her again, slowly, as if memorizing it for the last time, then shook his head slightly. "Bad timing," was all he said. Then he took a half-step back, and inclined his head. "Good day, Señora de la Vega." Turning on his heel, he strode quickly out of the cantina into the sunshine, his face a mask.

Victoria slowly went back to the table and pulled another ball of masa, not looking across at Marianna. The other woman had obviously heard what had been said, however. She gazed sadly at Victoria, then reached out and covered her hand with her own.

Finally glancing up, Victoria realized she had tears in her eyes. She shook her head. "We weren't..." she whispered, caught herself, then managed an expressive shrug. "We might have in time. He asked. I said ask me again in a year." She turned her hand over to squeeze Marianna's. "I'm glad you came when you did," she managed a tiny smile.

Marianna nodded, and squeezed her hand back, and they both dropped their gaze and returned to the tortillas.

* * *

It wasn't very long after that they heard a louder, more demanding voice from the bar, and Victoria hurried to the door again. Alcalde de Soto had returned to the cantina and was staring down Jaime from across the bar, asking pointed questions about which regiment he had belonged to, his commander's name, what battle he had been wounded in... all the questions Jaime had said could lead him to the truth. Jaime was deflecting each one with a shrug, repeating that he did not recall, had no wish to remember anything from his recent stint in the army, had no stories to tell. He was using his cloth to wipe out a large beer mug, turning it over and over in his hands. Victoria could tell he was shaking slightly, and using the action to hide it from the Alcalde, as well as the group of a dozen or so men who were clustered around, watching the confrontation. Glancing swiftly that way, she saw a handful of them were Lancers, former compadres of Sergeant Mendoza, and among them was the new Teniente, Vargas.

"No war stories?" de Soto was sneering slightly. "That's an odd attitude from a career soldier."

Jaime abruptly slammed the mug down on the counter behind the bar with a loud crash, making several men – and Victoria – jump. He stared hard at de Soto, his face slowly turning purple. More than one watching man turned pale at the unexpected look of raw hatred in his eyes.

"_I... am... not_..._ a... career... soldier!"_ Jaime ground out through clenched teeth. "Not any more. I haven't been since the day _you_ ripped off my rank and _shoved_ me out the garrison gates! I was a _convict soldier_, thanks to your ridiculous accusation and false conviction! A convict! Human scum – a worm with a gun, a beast of burden, for _four... long... years!_" He paused, breathing harshly for a long moment. "_Why..._ would I want to remember a single second of _that, _let _alone_ tell about it?" With a sudden, violent shove, the mug crashed into several others. Victoria thought for a moment he was going to begin making threats – threats she could easily believe, looking at him now. Instead, he growled slowly, all the more menacing by his soft voice, "You owe me a _life_, de Soto. But _I_... owe you... _nothing!" _A long pause. "Now leave me alone," he finished, his voice raw.

De Soto had stared silently at his former Sergeant throughout this onslaught, his wild eyes huge in his white face. He obviously had never expected the old teddy bear to bite like that. As if suddenly conscious of the eyes upon him, he raised an eyebrow and put on an approximation of a smirk, then began to move sideways – towards the kitchen.

Jaime barked again, never taking his eyes off de Soto for a second. "And leave Doña Marianna alone, as well! Her husband is _dead, _and she is in mourning! Have some respect – if you know what that word even means!"

De Soto drew breath to snipe back, when suddenly a new voice – soft, calm, level, and cultured – surprised everyone. "I have no names for you either." Victoria's head snapped around, as did everyone else's. There was a general gasp from the onlookers, and more than one back instinctively straightened.

Marianna was standing by Victoria's elbow in the kitchen doorway, staring icily at de Soto as if he were an loathsome insect. She stood utterly still, her back ramrod straight, her chin lifted imperiously, eyebrows arched. Her hands were folded gracefully before her, just above the baby bump – which had the effect of subtly announcing her late-stage pregnancy to all. She had looped her long black hair back that morning into an elaborate coil on her nape, and although she wore only the plainest of dresses, belted high above her swollen belly, she had the air, Victoria thought irreverently, of a princess playing dress-up as a peasant. She recognized the act; she had seen it the previous evening, before the Alcalde had stalked out. Marianna's old-world accent was even back, thicker than before, completing the picture.

With everyone's rapt attention on her, Marianna continued, speaking in her quiet voice directly to the Alcalde. "My husband is dead. I have left that life behind. I remember nothing." From anyone else, Victoria thought, that last would have been a ridiculous statement, but Victoria intuited her sister had just shut down any avenues of inquiry. "Good day, Señor." At last, she turned her head to pass her gaze over the crowd, acknowledging their presence. "Señores." Her eyes came to rest on Teniente Vargas at the back, who gallantly inclined his head to her. A second spent considering him, and she nodded slightly back, then turned smoothly and disappeared without a sound into the kitchen.

A slight general release of breath, and all eyes returned to de Soto to see his reaction. He had been staring along with everyone else; now he seemed to come back to himself, spell broken. He jerked his head around to Mendoza, then made a move as if bellying up to the bar.

Jaime broke in. "I will not serve you, de Soto. Now or ever. _Get out_," he spat the last words with real venom.

With a final disdainful stare and snort, de Soto finally turned on his heel and walked out.

Victoria was watching Vargas. The teniente eyed the alcalde's back with a speculative gleam, then slowly glanced back, thoughtfully watching Mendoza for a moment before catching Victoria's eye. He turned his head to look straight at her, and slowly nodded, as if to say _I understand now._ He stepped through the crowd as the chatter began again, up to the bar, and held out his hand towards Jaime.

"Welcome home, Señor Mendoza. I am very glad to meet you."

Jaime had been leaning on both fists on the counter, trying to regather his calm. Now he glanced up, surprised. Vargas' expression was open, earnest – and intelligent. Jaime reached up and shook the proffered hand. "I am glad to meet you, too, Teniente." A slow smile crossed Jaime's face. "I think the garrison is in good hands now."

"I hope so," Vargas smiled. "But speaking of which, I had best get to it. Doña Victoria," he nodded his salutation, then followed de Soto out into the sunshine.

Victoria and Jaime traded raised eyebrows and heavy, pursed-lipped sighs, then Victoria stepped into the kitchen. She found Marianna hiding in the corner out of view, leaning against a cabinet and cooling herself with a fan she had conjured from somewhere. She turned her head to give Victoria a wry look, then asked softly, tipping her head backwards through the wall, "Is _he_ all right?"

Victoria paused for several seconds, listening, then grinned and nodded. "He's fine. He's telling _your_ story now, so you won't have to, Señora de la Cruz." Marianna smiled and snorted appreciatively.

She suddenly held the fan out at arms length, loftily admiring it. When Victoria came near, she saw it was an amazing piece, each ornate rib intricately carved from ivory, with expensive lace tatted from the tiniest silken threads spread between. "My mother died when I was eleven," Marianna said suddenly. "This fan is the only thing from her I have in the world."

"I doubt that," Victoria said drily as she crossed her arms, surprising Marianna into a puzzled stare. "I'll bet you got her aristocratic manner, too. That royal act didn't come from an army camp."

Marianna laughed. "Well," she said, snapping the fan closed with an elegant flick of her wrist and stowing it into a deep pocket in her dress, before leaning towards Victoria to whisper conspiratorially, "she could do it even better."


	34. Chapter 34

_**Chapter Thirty-Four**_

That evening, after closing the cantina, eating supper, and putting Paulo to bed, the four adults of the new de la Vega family: Don Alejandro, Victoria, Marianna, and Jaime, sat around the big kitchen table, sipping wine and talking.

Don Alejandro looked across at his new daughter-in-law, a curious twinkle in his eye. "My dear," he began, "I would very much like to hear your story. We know almost nothing about you. Please tell us?"

Unexpectedly, her smile faltered, and she folded her hands in her lap, gazing at them and biting her lips. Don Alejandro and Victoria shared a concerned look.

"I... I do wish to tell you," Marianna began. "But... please understand... many things in my past are... very painful to me. I do not wish now to dwell upon them."

Victoria put her arm around her sister's shoulders. "You don't have to tell us anything you don't want to," she declared.

Marianna smiled gratefully. "Thank you." She took a breath. "I will tell you the... the basic facts. And you will understand, even without the details." Victoria noticed that Jaime had lowered his head to stare at his wine glass. _He already knows what's coming,_ she realized.

The younger woman began hesitantly, with many long pauses to choose her words. "I was married before, at just fifteen, to a man who was... more than twice my age... He was a colonel in a city regiment... who had never seen combat – at least, not before he was ordered to sail over here and join the war. He had been married once before. His first wife died unexpectedly, soon after their marriage." She took a very long pause, looking at the wood grain in the table. "He was... cruel... sadistic... He enjoyed inflicting pain on others..." Victoria had gasped, and Marianna glanced shyly at her. "I have many scars," she admitted softly, then shrugged. "I endured." Victoria was now glad Marianna had not wanted to give them details; she didn't think she wanted to know.

Another very long pause, then Marianna seemed to give herself a little shake and gather steam. "He forced me to go everywhere with him – even on campaign," she added sourly. "I had this little enclosed carriage for one person – I drove the horse myself through a window." She gave a bitter little laugh. "It was like a... coffin on wheels." She shook her head. "Anyway... I drove it along after the troops, in the baggage train, just behind the lead wagon, while _he_ rode his horse away up in front."

A bitter smile claimed her lips. "One day," she said, "we were – _they_ were marching through some mountains, and a whistle sounded." She nodded at Don Alejandro's flaring brows. "_That_ whistle. They were attacked – by El Halcón. I had heard those stories, and so had the men. Many of them – perhaps _most_ of them – ran. And so did the colonel," she added matter-of-factly. "I was watching through my little window, and I saw him. The instant that whistle sounded, he dug his spurs into his horse, and ran off, in a flat gallop, as fast as his horse could run. He never looked back. He left me... and all his men... and supplies, and equipment, and even the colors... to the tender mercies of the partisans. He was also a coward," she added unnecessarily. "It was the last glimpse I ever had of him."

She thought a moment, then looked at Don Alejandro across the table. "I want you to understand... most of the men ran off. That is what usually happened. That is what he – Felipe – always _wanted_ to happen. That's why he uses that distinctive whistle, to warn them. He _wanted_ them to run off and hide. Most of them were usually conscripts, there unwillingly. If they ran off, they mostly tried to make their way home. He _destroys_ companies, yes." She shook her head. "But he does not _kill_ them. The stories you have heard were spread by the Army, to hide their problem with deserters."

Don Alejandro had been watching her face, understanding slowly dawning. Now he began to chuckle, then laugh, and shook his head. He glanced over to see Jaime grinning sideways at him and laughed again. "All right," he finally said. "Very clever." He nodded to Marianna. "Please go on."

"Many of the men _did_ stay," she said, sobering, "but without leadership... They had no chance. It was bloody. Bloodier than I expected. I tried to turn my carriage around to go back, but..." she grimaced, "the stupid wheel got stuck. So I was trapped. All I could do was hide... and wait." She saw the puzzled looks on their faces and divined the question, shaking her head. "There was no handle on the inside of the door," she explained. "He had broken it off. It only opened from the outside. I was always locked inside until _he_ came to open it." This, the first real detail she had given, hit Victoria hard, and she was outraged.

"So," Marianna continued, a little brighter, "There I was, trapped in my carriage. All I could do was wait. Finally the partisans came to pick over the wagons and see what they could find. I could hear a group of them to one side, talking about my carriage. 'It's the strangest thing I've ever seen!'" she quoted. "Finally," she began smiling more broadly, remembering, "a knock came on the door." She rapped on the table. "'Senora? Are you all right?" She was pausing now, as he must have, smiling and laughing a little in between. Her listeners had no doubt as to whom she was describing now: Felipe. "'Do not worry, I do not make war on women!'" … "'I'm opening the door, Señora!' Finally he opens the door," she said, mimicking the motion. She covered her face with both hands for a moment, blushing, then turned to Victoria with a confessing air, "and I shot at him!"

"What?" Victoria cried. Marianna was laughing aloud now.

"I had this tiny little pistol, for protection – just a single shot, really just a toy! I was _terrified_ of what they would do to me! So I closed my eyes and pulled the trigger!" she said, demonstrating again with a hard flinch to the right, closing her eyes and covering them with her left hand while her right hand pointed, gunlike, across the other way. "Of course the bullet went wild – thank god! … So I opened my eyes and peeked." She was still miming each movement. "He had jerked back, and now he's looking around the corner again..." She covered her face again for a moment, giggling, then looked back at Victoria. "And our eyes met... and I was his," she finished simply. "And he was mine."

Thoroughly enjoying the story now, Victoria and Father looked at each other and laughed aloud, Jaime also joining in with a chuckle.

Marianna turned to Father. "He introduced himself formally, '_Don_ Felipe de la Vega' – _long_ before he knew he really deserved it – when Diego told him. Then he gave me his word of honor as gentlemen," she pronounced as seriously as he must have done, "that I would not be harmed by anyone, not even himself." Her eyes crinkled again. "He said he would take me to a place of safety – he had a convent in mind, I think, a few days ride away." Her eyes slid back to Victoria's and held them a moment, smiling fondly at the memory before giving a falsely nonchalant shrug. "He took me to his home, instead. And we've been together ever since."

"How long has that been?" Father wanted to know.

"Two – almost three years," she said proudly, her hands dropping to caress her baby belly once more.

"And what happened to... the colonel? Do we need to worry about him coming after you, after all this time?" he asked shrewdly.

Marianna gave him a level look. "We heard he was killed a few weeks later, so no." She took a deep breath. "Felipe never says his name, so neither do I. That's why I went back to my girlhood name, not his. But if I ever mention my 'late husband', you know I am talking about _him_, and not Felipe." Another shy, loving smile claimed her mouth. "I have never had anything but love and kindness from your son."

"Now _that_ sounds like the young man I used to know," Victoria said firmly, and not without a little relief. She looked across at Jaime. "I just can't reconcile him with this new partisan Capitán you've been describing."

Jaime grinned, nodding. "It took me – and Diego – a little while, too. But he'll win you over, very quickly, when he gets here. You'll see."

"He is good at that," from Marianna.

"Well," Victoria exclaimed lightly, smiling at Don Alejandro. "Looks like the de la Vega charm rubbed off on him after all."

He just smiled and winked.


	35. Chapter 35

_**Content warning** for mentions of rape and sadism, and some disparaging talk about religion._

* * *

_**Chapter Thirty-Five**_

The next day was Saturday. During a lull in the customers, a knock came at the open back kitchen door, and a middle-aged priest stepped through. "Forgive me for barging in," he said, smiling apologetically.

"Father Patricio," said Don Alejandro levelly. He and the two women had been standing around the table, preparing to sort a large pile of dried beans. He gave the priest of the pueblo's only church a tight smile. "You have come to apologize for misjudging my son?" he asked, deceptively mild..

Patricio looked surprised, and a little apprehensive. "It was not I who told you he was dead," he said tentatively.

"You misjudged his character." This one was edging closer to an accusation.

"And I will be overjoyed to correct any misapprehensions when I see him again, and can judge for myself – as I did before. Not to any second-hand reports of him," he finished firmly, then added a rueful smile. "I take it you will still not come to mass."

Don Alejandro appeared to take a second to see if he could think of an answer, but then settled for a shake of the head. He had not attended services since the letter had come of Diego's 'death', still angry with Father Patricio over his handling of the matter. Victoria had only come once in a while, out of habit.

The Father turned his smile upon the second woman, standing across the table from him, and Don Alejandro, sighing a bit, did the honors, introducing the priest to his 'cousin', Doña Marianna de la Cruz. She nodded solemnly at him, and he, smiling, extended an invitation to attend mass the next morning.

Marianna glanced quickly at Don Alejandro, then Victoria, who shrugged slightly – _up to you –_ then shook her head at the priest. "No, thank you," she replied softly. "I do not attend church."

"Never?" was his shocked reply, and she shook her head again. "But... do you not wish to offer prayers for your late husband's soul?" The tiny town had spread the word of the lovely widow living now at the cantina.

Marianna barked a laugh, quickly smothered. "Forgive me, Señor. My late husband does not need my prayers – nor would they do him any good where I know he is. Mine or anyone else's."

" 'Where he is'?"

"Burning in hell," was her completely serious explanation. The Father gasped, crossing himself quickly.

"That is... a serious sin," he spluttered, but she cut him off.

"Tcha!" She looked away, disdainful.

"It is for _God_ to judge a man's soul, not us," he tried again, gently chiding her.

Her eyes snapped back to his. "I do not need _God_ to tell me what kind of man my husband was. I _lived_ with him. He was a cruel, sadistic monster, who made _me_ his victim, never showing me a single moment's kindness." Her hands were busy at her wrists, unbuttoning each long sleeve and pushing it up to her elbows, then holding her arms out across the table. Across each forearm were dozens of ugly welts and scars. "I have _many_ scars, Señor," she went on. "I will not show them to you. But I will carry them for life."

He was deeply shocked, and it showed on his white face. "And... your _husband_ was the one who gave them to you?"

"My late husband, yes." Victoria, standing silently next to her, her own eyes huge on the scars, noticed the word 'late'. Marianna would always carefully identify between her two husbands, even when her listener had no idea there was more than one.

The padre was still struggling. "You... sought help, did you not?"

She huffed, definitely angry now, startling both of the de la Vegas with this brand-new side of the young woman, who up till now had been demure and retiring. Not any more. "Of _course_ I did! My father, my confessor, our priest... even the _bishop_ who married us! But _none_ of them cared. _None_ of them would even _look_ at my arms, or my other wounds, or hear about my concerns! Instead, _each_ of them told me that it was _my_ fault. That if my husband were being _unkind_," she spat the word out, "it must be because I was not performing my 'wifely duties' with a 'joyous and willing heart'!" Her sarcasm made the direct quotations obvious. "That my 'lord and master' had not only the _right_, but the _duty_, to _correct_ my behavior!" She stopped and took a deep breath, ratcheting her voice back down a notch. "So they sent me home, each of them, back to _him. _And I _did_ try, Señor. I _smiled_ at him. I spoke him fair. I did _everything _he asked of me, without complaint. I even caressed his manhood. Do you know what he did?" Father Patricio shook his head mechanically, his eyes huge. Her hands were already unbuttoning the top of her blouse, and she threw one side back with her next words, showing her shoulder. "He _laughed_ at me, and put his cigar out on my skin!" A coin-sized round mark, an old burn, was plainly visible below her collarbone. "Then he called me a whore, and raped me, saying I _obviously_ liked it rough, because I had _smiled_ at him!"

The Father's face had blanched white by then. She took a moment, redoing the buttons, then went on, her voice now low and level. "Your brethren sanctioned my nightly torture, Señor." It was about then that Victoria registered her consistently calling him 'Señor', not the familiar, respectful 'Father'.

He had to break in then. "That is _not_ the teaching of the church!" he protested, but she just laughed harshly.

"Oh, yes it is! 'The man is the head of the family, as Christ is the head of the church.' 'Wives must submit to your husbands in all things.' It might not be what _Jesus_ taught, but it is _certainly_ what the Catholic church teaches!"

"But that is the natural order of things!" he tried for reasonableness. "The man is _naturally_ the head of the family, and so has his rights!"

"Not to the point of _torture_," she said. "I do not believe that _any _person has the unquestionable right to cause pain and humiliation to _anyone_ else, _regardless_ of their relationship! Do you?"

It wasn't a rhetorical question; she waited for his reply.

Father Patricio visibly struggled for several long moments, while all three of the others watched. To his credit, he finally shook his head. "No," he said softly. "That is not right. It is not Christian."

"Thank you," she replied as softly. "I wish more of your brethren agreed." She flung up a hand as if to ward off his next objection. "Even if it is only a handful of priests and bishops who teach that a man can do literally anything to 'correct' his wife, even if they misunderstand Christ's teaching, they have _never_ been corrected by the pope. No pope has _ever_ spoken out against it. So I am sorry, but the entire church _does_ carry the stain of it. And until the pope issues a bull, correcting that misunderstanding, telling the world that _no_ man should _ever_ torture or rape his wife," she said, ignoring his flinching at the explicit words, "I will _never_ set foot in another church, or attend another mass, or give my confession to a priest, ever again." Shutting her mouth with a snap, she stared, her eyes hard as flints, across the table.

He swallowed, then tried a new tack. "Are you not worried about your own immortal soul, Señora?"

She barked another rueful little laugh, then shook her head. "No. Shall I tell you why?"

"Please do," he replied, as if discussing the menu.

"Because when I die, and go before God to be judged," she began, calm again now, "if God, as you believe, is one of love and mercy, then he will look inside my heart, and see that I have _always_ tried to be a good person, my whole life. I have always tried to be kind and generous to everyone, even to my late husband. And God will see that, and judge me for it, _not_ on whether I said the right words in the right order, or genuflected at the right times." She paused a moment, then went on. "And if he is not that kind of God, but is the angry, petty, vengeful God that some believe, and _does_ judge me on how many times I crossed myself and went to mass?" She shook her head. "Then he is not the kind of God I will worship. He is not _worth_ worshipping. I will _not_ worship a God out of fear."

Father Patricio had been struggling to find something to grab onto. "God _is_ just, loving and merciful," he said, trying to be as definitive as he wished he felt.

"Then He needs to take his earthly representatives in hand, and correct their misunderstanding," she shot back, not unkindly, "because many of them are preaching hatred and bigotry in His name."

He gasped slowly, shocked once more. "Those are very strong words, Señora."

"What do you call it? What else is it but hatred of women, to tell them they must submit to their husbands, regardless of how cruelly, how violently, they are treated? What else is it but bigotry to say that Indios and Africans do not have souls, are not actual humans?"

He stared at her for many seconds, thinking. Finally, he managed, "I must confess that I do not have an answer. But I fear that you are dangerously close to heresy."

"Why?" she shot back again, her brows raised with an innocent expression. "Are you with the Inquisition?"

"The Inquisition is folded," he informed her gravely, and she smiled.

"I know." She paused, then dipped her head. "Forgive me, Señor. I do not usually pick arguments like that. I am afraid that you... touched a nerve."

He managed a sincerely friendly smile. "I am... deeply distressed... and very sorry, for what you have endured, Señora. And grieved that it has turned you away from the mother church." Her eyebrows arched, but she didn't reply. He nodded again. "Thank you, Señora. You have given me many things to think about." He licked his lips and asked courteously, "I hope I may return and continue this conversation in the future?"

She gave him a wry smile. "When you have gathered your counterarguments, you mean?"

He matched her smile. "My thoughts, at any rate." Startled, he realized that, although more shocked and appalled than he had ever been, he was also intrigued. "May I?"

She gazed at him for a moment, thinking. "Perhaps. I make you no promises. But I will still not attend mass."

Don Alejandro couldn't help but let go a laugh at that point. He slapped Father Patricio on the back. "I think you may have just met your match, Father."

The priest gave him a weak smile. "Well, I'm just a simple village priest, after all." He turned back to Marianna. "But I look forward to our discussions, nevertheless, even though I fear you will get the best of me every time." She peered at him closely, suspecting false modesty, but he seemed genuine, so at last she relented and shook her own head.

"I am no theologian, Señor. I can only go by my own thoughts and experiences."

After a few more meaningless social noises, he nodded at the other two and left out the back door. Marianna closed her eyes, and sighed, rubbing her own arms. Finally she took a deep sniff, opened her eyes, and glanced each way with an almost fearful smile. "I hope I did not shock either of you... too much."

Victoria wasn't quite certain how she felt about all that had passed – she had never heard such arguments against the church before, let alone seen such proof of maltreatment – but shook her head at her sister anyway. Don Alejandro stepped around the corner of the table and took light hold of Marianna's upper arms, smiling kindly at her. "Not at all," he said, then leaned over to kiss her forehead.

Her reaction was _completely_ unexpected: clapping her hands to her mouth and scrunching eyes shut, she held back sudden sobs. He traded mystified glances with Victoria, then stood and waited, his face full of worried compassion.

When she managed to control herself, she looked into his eyes again and whispered, "In the fifteen years I lived under his roof, until he gave me to the colonel, I can count on two hands the number of times the man who was my father spoke kindly to me, or kissed me." His face crumpled in understanding. She sniffed again. "You have shown me more kindness in the last three days days than he did in fifteen years." She looked hopefully up at him. "May I call you Father?"

A wide, kind smile claimed his mouth again as he nodded at his young daughter-in-law. "I would like that."


	36. Chapter 36

_**Chapter Thirty-Six**_

Victoria had met the new family, as well, when they rode in to the cantina one day: Miguel and Anita Cordoba, with their three children – all under six, and the youngest still a baby. Paulo had greeted his new friends happily – their two older children, a girl and a boy, bracketed his age by a few months each – and taken them on a noisy, rambunctious tour of the entire cantina, inside and out.

Miguel had been a partisan for several years, riding with Capitán Halcón, until that last birth had decided him against the continuing danger. When he had told the Capitán they were leaving, he had asked them to accompany his wife and the others to Los Angeles, promising that Don Alejandro would help them settle in somewhere. Their addition would – and did – make the journey that much safer for all of them. Don Alejandro, hearing that the Cordobas had been farmers until their land had been burned and ruined by the Army of New Spain, asked if they would be willing to work the land remaining around the hacienda, growing vegetables and other crops for use in the cantina, as well as for sale in the market. They had agreed, and worked out a deal that profited them all.

The last man of the group, Gino, was not staying – not more than a few days, to rest. Then he would begin the long journey back to the southeast, to the war, to the Capitán and Don Diego. It was the last thing he said that had caused Victoria to gasp, however. He was staying a short time in order to take back letters and messages. Diego would at last learn about his son.

She struggled for several days, not knowing what to write or say. It was overwhelming. No matter how many times she reread Diego's letter, she couldn't come up with an appropriate response.

About the fourth day, Don Alejandro – coming in from the stables where he had put up his mare – caught her sitting alone at a table in the deserted cantina patio. Her troubled face would have stopped him, even if she hadn't reached out her hand. He sat in the chair opposite and took her hand, holding it atop the table.

"Father, I have a confession," she said softly.

That brought him up short. "Are you certain you have the right Father? Should I go get Father Patricio?" he asked. She started to glare at him, then caught the little smile twitching the corners of his mouth. As she snorted unwillingly, he chuckled.

"That's the first time I've heard you make a joke since..."

"Since we got that letter," he finished, and nodded. "What is your confession, my dear?"

She sighed. "There is a... _huge_ part of me... that wants to pack up Paulo, and go south with Gino. To find him. To find Diego, and be with him." Her eyes filled with tears. "Father, I just want to be with him," she whispered, then took a deep breath. "Since the day Papa died, I have relied on you for advice. Tell me what to do. Tell me why I shouldn't go. Please."

He stared for a minute, concern and compassion written deep, then slowly nodded. He squeezed her hand and then looked down at the table, and she waited for him to gather his thoughts. At last, he looked up again. "Consider this. Felipe... although he was just a boy when he left, from what Jaime and Marianna said last night when they told us his story, became a partisan – a _fighter_ – shortly after that. He learned to fight, even to kill, and has been doing it ever since, for what, six, seven years now?" Her brow was furrowed, wondering what he was getting at. "His world is _filled_ with danger, violence. War and death. He _lives_ in a war zone. He is _used_ to it. And yet... he sent his beloved wife here, to us. To me. To _remove_ her from the danger. To remove their _child_ from the danger. Because he had come to feel it was too dangerous there for her to remain. Jaime's wounding was just convenient timing."

He took a breath. "And Diego now lives there, too. Even though he is _not_ fighting, he still faces danger _constantly_. Remember that army company that left the mines that wounded Jaime? They came within a quarter mile of their new farms. And Diego runs a gauntlet every few weeks, taking food and supplies to the partisans." Victoria had never known him to ramble on without a point, but he was certainly taking his sweet time getting there this time. She shook her head slightly, and he gave her another sad smile, squeezing her hand again.

"The two of you have been apart for most of your lives, even though you have both loved each other for all of them. I know this. I breaks my heart for you both, and I would change it if I could." He sighed. "If you are _determined_ to face that danger, if you have decided the risks are worth it, to be with Diego, I will not try to stop you." Without warning, he sat straighter, and his face and voice hardened with determination, more than she had ever seen directed at herself. "But I _will_ stop you, if you try to take Paulo with you." He let that echo for a moment before continuing. Her breath had stopped, her eyes huge, unable to believe he was saying this. "He is _far_ too young to face such danger, or to see such constant death and destruction. He is not even four years old. That is too young. I am sorry, but I _will... not... _allow you to take my grandson into such a dangerous part of the world. Into a war zone."

He paused again. "So, you must make a choice, Victoria. Are you Diego's wife? Or Paulo's mother?" Finished at last, he leaned back slightly and watched her, his expression kind – but also resolved.

She couldn't believe he would say this. "That's not fair," she whispered, shaking her head.

But he turned harsh again. "_Life_ is not fair, Victoria. And especially, _war_ is not." He softened then, lifting her hand again and squeezing it. "I am sorry. But I will not change my mind on this. You will not take Paulo south. I will keep him safe, and raise him, if you go, until you return – with Diego. But he is not leaving. He is too young. And you know it."

It was the last sentence that did it. She _did_ know it. And she knew, without even asking herself, what her decision had to be. Her face crumpled, and she pulled her hand back to cover her face along with the other. "I just want to see him again..." she sobbed.

Don Alejandro stood and stepped around the table, taking her and pulling her up into his arms. "I know, my daughter. I know. I do too. I want my son to come home, so much." He patted the back of her head, leaning now on his shoulder. "But consider this, too," he added, a little more confidently. "Jaime says he is certain the war will not last much longer. And I believe we can trust his judgment on that. Men are joining the rebellion every day, and the Army of New Spain is losing battles – and men. And do not forget what I told you when I came back from Madrid, about the talk there of granting independence." He bit his lips, and then said it. "I believe it will be over soon. They will both be home – very soon."

Victoria lifted her head again and looked him in the eyes. "But it's dangerous here, too – especially for him. It's getting worse. And de Soto..." she shook her head.

"Then I make you this promise. If it gets to be untenable here, we will not wait. We will get out, and get down to Marenga – all of us – and wait for Diego and Felipe, where they said they would meet us after the war. All right? If we agree it is time, then it is time."

She searched deep in his eyes, seeing both his pain at all that had happened, and his resolve to see his family safe and reunited – someday. Finally, she nodded agreement. "All right."

* * *

She knew then what she had to write, but it still took several tries. Gino had asked that no names be used in any letters, not even their own, in case they were intercepted. She went through several pieces of paper, but finally was satisfied. As Diego had done, she concentrated on her feelings, giving him the sense of what was in her heart, but she also had to warn him away from coming home too soon. De Soto would kill Diego the moment he saw him, without question or hesitation – or valid reason. The man was imbalanced on the subject of her absent husband – his old nemesis, Zorro. Diego _had_ to wait until it was safe!

_My darling:_

_You live. You are alive. My heart keeps singing the same words, over and over. You live! And some day, you will be home again, in my arms, where you belong. I know this with every breath, every heartbeat._

_If you are reading this, the one who gave it to you has told you all the news, so I will not repeat it. Just know that the __three__ of us are here, waiting, and we will be here still, no matter how long it takes. And more than three now, with my new sister. She is already as dear to me as anyone ever was, the sister I never had before. Tell your brother we cherish her, and will keep her and their child safe. _

_And our close friend, as well, of course. He is part of the family, as he has long been. Do not worry. _

_I long to see you, to hold you, to be safe once more in your arms, to walk beside you, to see the light in your eyes as you watch our son grow. But I know that everything you do now is to secure our future – __all__ our futures. No one can know how long it will take, but carve one thing in stone within your heart, my darling: I am here. I will always be here._

_There is so much more to say, but it will wait until I can whisper it into your ear. _

_I give you all of my love, for all of my life, my darling._

As he had done, she signed it with only her initial, V. But where he had used a pencil to shadow in the Z, she dangled a little tail off the initial upright, so if it were turned sideways, the V turned to a Z.

There. She looked it over, and was satisfied with it. But there was still something missing.

Her hand automatically sought the locket around her neck, but as her fingers closed around it, she registered its cool solidity, glanced down, and smiled.

* * *

The next day, they gathered at the hacienda – not the cantina, for privacy – to say goodbye to Gino. It was an appropriate place, Victoria thought, gazing at the pink stucco facade of the beloved old house. She had not returned since that last night there with Father. She sighed, then squared her shoulders and joined the others.

Part of her was sorry to see him go; he was a breath of fresh air. His grey eyes underneath that curly mop of hair were always crinkled, his mouth perpetually smiling lopsidedly, as he poked fun at life in general. But behind the jokes, she could tell his mind was always busy. He was sharp as a tack, and missed nothing. She had no doubt of his courage, either; escorting the group a thousand miles through potentially dangerous territory, and now preparing to return, alone. But from certain things he had said, she knew he was as loyal to the Capitán as Jaime now was. He would make it through, and finish his mission, period.

Victoria and Marianna both handed Gino folded letters with no addresses; Victoria had folded hers into the same compact triangle they had always used, drawing the Z across the opening, while Marianna had folded hers into a small rectangle, using a small drop of sealing wax to close it, using her fingernail to press a crescent moon into the wax – C, for Capitán, she told Gino, and he grinned. Don Alejandro had given each of the women a short note from himself to fold inside theirs, saying to each of his sons that he was as proud of them now as he had been on that day in the tunnel. Diego would know which one, and would tell Felipe. Gino verified again which letter was which, and tucked them away inside his clothes in a secret pocket.

"Wait, Gino. I have something else, too," Victoria said, and reached up to unclasp the locket, then opened it up to show him the contents. She had removed Diego's curl from the golden filigree, tied it with a thread, and tucked it inside the flap of his letter. Now, instead, it contained two tiny locks of hair: one from her head, and one from Paulo's. Gino nodded understanding, and she leaned to clasp it around his neck. "For safekeeping," she said, and he tucked it down inside his shirt out of sight.

"Any messages, in case the letters go astray?" he asked.

Marianna jumped, then rubbed at her side. "Yes," she said a bit sourly. "Tell Felipe I am certain this baby is a boy. Because he kicks like his father," she added ruefully, then laughed along with Gino.

He hadn't asked before, so she was not prepared, but as soon as he turned to her, Victoria knew what to say. "Tell Diego, that I would not wait for a masked man, but I _will_ wait for my husband, until stars fall from the sky if necessary. He will understand."

Gino repeated both messages to make sure he had them right, then said his goodbyes to each. He gallantly kissed each woman's hand – slightly ruining the effect with a wicked grin, then traded clasped forearms with Jaime.

"Vaya con Dios, Sargento," he said, his eyes twinkling.

Jaime grinned. "Do good things," he replied. They shared a snorting laugh. Then Gino likewise clasped Miguel's forearm, then shook Don Alejandro's hand. Without any further delay, he mounted his horse, took the lead rein of the pack horse loaded with supplies, and began his long, long journey south, their hearts riding along beside.


	37. Chapter 37

_**Chapter Thirty-Seven**_

Marianna and Jaime both claimed to be satisfied with their accommodations in the hotel block, but Victoria most definitely was _not_. The doors of the main cantina building, front and back, were locked as soon as the cantina closed for business, and stayed locked until the morning, letting anyone renting a room come and go through the side door between patio and alley, and she did not like the idea of the two of them – two and a half – locked outside overnight, especially with the impending birth. Nor was she always sanguine about the quality of her hotel guests – there was a reason for locking the back doors; although she had no doubts about Jaime's abilities or dedication to protecting the Capitán's wife, he was still just one man, and with a handicap, at that.

The problem was, there was only limited room inside the building. Victoria's father had built only two rooms above the kitchen and office, with a third tiny one at the head of the stairs in the opposite front corner, used as storage for the more valuable of their supplies – mostly bottles of wine and whiskey, the "good stuff", along with some of the food for the kitchen. The heavy barrels and casks were stored in the matching room below it, behind the stairs.

"To be honest," Jaime said one evening as they were discussing possible rearrangements, "I don't want to go up and down stairs every day." He picked up his cane, leaning beside him against the table, and gestured with it to demonstrate the reason. "A small cot crammed into the lower storage room would be fine for me – or I could even sleep on one of the benches in the main room." He grinned adding, "Even that would be better than the ground," reminding them all of his years with the army doing just that.

"Or better yet," Don Alejandro put in, "a cot in the office. There's more room there – and you could guard the safe while you're sleeping." When Jaime nodded snorting agreement, Alejandro lightly slapped the table. "And that makes the rest of it simple, too." He turned to Victoria. "Move Paulo into my room – he's no longer a baby who needs his mother overnight – and then Marianna can move into yours. There's room for two beds and a crib, as well." It was true that the bedrooms were spacious. The two women exchanged a smile, agreeing that they would both be fine sharing a room together, and so it was arranged.

Although Marianna had expressed willingness to "do anything to help", Victoria swiftly knew her well enough to know that her new sister-in-law was normally highly reserved and private (she had been startled into a much more revealing conversation with the priest than she would normally countenance, especially with someone she had just met), so the tasks she designated as Marianna's were, as much as possible, those that did not bring her into contact with patrons. Once the day's food had been prepared, everyone fed breakfast, and that resulting mess cleaned up, the younger woman set off to clean whatever rooms needed it; a task she did quickly and efficiently, Chico – and often Paulo – tagging along at her heels. She even managed to sweep floors, as long as Paulo manned the dustbin, although she left mopping and heavy lifting to others. (Victoria had always sent laundry to a nearby washerwoman, and continued the practice; no one wanted sheets hanging across the patio.) After that, Marianna settled into the kitchen, ladling stew, beans, and rice and handing the plates to Victoria, then washing them as they came back. Occasionally, when they were _very_ busy, she took a hand in delivering the food to the table with quiet, but not unfriendly, dignity – which had the effect of momentarily silencing the patrons and piquing their interest, causing many of them to decide to deliver their empty plates to the kitchen door in order to catch another glimpse of her rather than leaving them on the table as per usual.

Indeed, the entire pueblo was intrigued by the astonishingly lovely, rarely-seen, mysterious, very-pregnant widow now living in the Cantina Victoria. Between her shy, reserved nature and the literal life-or-death secrets she was hiding, however, Marianna kept strictly to herself, getting to know only two people outside her new family: Father Patricio, who – as promised – occasionally came by the cantina for conversations, not all of which were enjoined; and the town's best midwife, Maria Sanchez, who had delivered Paulo four years earlier.

Victoria had taken the expectant mother to see Maria shortly after Gino's departure, when Marianna admitted to mild terror at the prospect of childbirth – her first, after all. She had balked, however, when Maria suggested a routine examination, glancing fearfully at Victoria.

That woman had divined the reason instantly. "It's all right," she said soothingly. "I have never known Maria to spill a single secret, no matter how big, or tiny. Do you want me to stay here?" They were in Maria's small main room.

Marianna took a deep breath. "No, please come too," and they followed Maria to the bedroom for privacy. Marianna had rolled up a sleeve, then, showing the midwife the scars there as she had done for the priest. Maria had needed no explanation, but she looked troubled.

"It is far too late to try to get rid of the baby!" she warned, but Marianna hastened to disabuse her of the idea. The one who had so mistreated her was _not_ the baby's father, she said, and left it at that.

After that, the exam had gone swiftly and well. Maria pressed her lips together briefly, but made no comment about any other scars she saw, and Victoria did not look. "The baby is healthy, and so are you," Maria pronounced. "My only concern is for how tiny you are. Is the father a large man?"

Marianna bit her lip. "He is taller than average, but very, _very_ slender."

"Then possibly the baby will be long, too, but hopefully not too big for the birth canal when the time comes. But we will keep a close eye on you." It was especially vital to make sure the baby had turned in time, and she showed Marianna how to carefully feel for its position. No, she had no way of determining the baby's sex; her long years of experience had shown her the ultimate uselessness of any of the myriad of divination techniques. That tidbit alone made Marianna's remaining nerves about her disappear; she was a frank, no-nonsense woman who could handle any emergency as well as anyone anywhere could (this being the days before doctors had even become involved in childbirth, let alone began developing their professional knowledge and expertise in the subject; midwives were still the _only_ experts).

Paulo, meanwhile, passed his fourth birthday a happy, pampered child. The four adults now in his life: Abuelo, Mama, Tia Anna, and Tio Jaime, all adored him and let him tag along and "help" with whatever they were working on – which he loved doing; and he had the run of the cantina and the patio, a dog _and_ a cat to play with, _and _a pony to ride when one of the adults could spare the time, a few wooden toys, and several books he was learning to read from. Tia Anna proved an even better teacher than Mama (she said she had taught several other children to read already), and they would sit together in the kitchen in the afternoons for lessons in reading and counting, and many other things. If Tia Anna had to jump up often to dish out food or wash plates, she managed to not let it interrupt their play – which was how Paulo thought of it. And (after a few weeks' absence that Paulo hardly noticed because of the newcomers), his Tio Orlando took him out to his ranch once or twice each week to ride and play.

Not that he was a spoiled brat. _None_ of the adults would have stood for that, insisting that the boy mind his manners and be respectful of everyone – even animals – at all times. But that was never a problem for Paulo; his heart was as big as his brain, and he radiated boyish caring as intensely as he soaked up knowledge. Victoria had no doubts about his future; his father would never be less than proud of his son.

So the weeks passed into summer. The cantina continued steadily increasing patronage and profit, but not more than they could handle. Jaime, sitting on his stool behind the bar, took over all the bartending duties, leaving Don Alejandro free to pretty much do as he pleased. The patriarch rode out nearly every morning, save Sunday and Wednesday, on his mare, Dulcinea, sometimes with Paulo trotting alongside on his pony; visiting not only the people on their own former ranch, but many, many others in the local area, from landowner to peasant farmer. Afternoons he could most often be found at his table in the cantina, visiting with anyone who cared to stop and chat.

Sundays, of course, they opened late after mass, and had a steady stream of customers through the afternoon. Wednesdays was "all hands on deck", as that was market day in the pueblo's square outside the cantina, so they were twice as busy as any other day, all day long. The Cantina Victoria, however, remained under the sole ownership of its namesake, who was kept busy from morning to night cooking, serving, running the financial side, keeping the books, overseeing their stocks and making purchases, and managing every other aspect. They continued to be closed every Monday to give them all a rest day, only serving a light breakfast or supper to any hotel guests.

Not that they did nothing on Mondays. Don Alejandro insisted – although none of them argued – that they all "get out of town" for the day. They would pack up a large picnic, and take it to the beach, or a particularly lovely hill on their old ranch, or Felipe's Spring (now wonderfully recovered from its usage during the drought, looking very nearly untouched), or – once a month – a more formal dinner with Don Orlando at his hacienda. All of them greatly enjoyed those dinners, "feeling like civilized human beings" as Marianna put it once; Jaime laughed but did not explain.

Victoria took these days to give Fuego some much-needed exercise. Most of the week, he lived in his old paddock behind their hacienda; Miguel brought him in to the stable behind the hotel block on Sunday morning when he brought his family for mass, and took him back out Tuesday. Marianna rode in a small carriage; although she looked longingly at the horses, having ridden since she was small, like Victoria, she sensibly wouldn't dream of riding one until after her baby was born.

The two men and Paulo alternated between carriage and horse- or pony-back as they felt. Jaime had kept the horse he'd ridden north: a sturdy, powerful brown gelding, an Andalusian cross, that he had named Drummer for the pounding hoofbeats.

"He's not much to look at," Don Alejandro commented, "but he's a good, solid, reliable horse."

"Like me," Jaime grinned.

* * *

Don Alejandro also continued attending the meetings of the Council of Dons; even though he no longer owned the requisite number of acres, he had been one of their peers for too many years, and was too well respected by the others, for them to disregard him now. He returned to the cantina after a meeting one quiet afternoon and sat heavily at his table in the nearly-empty room. Jaime traded a worried glance with Victoria, then took a bottle of red and two glasses over to the table, sat across from the elder, and poured.

"What is troubling you, old friend?" he asked softly.

Don Alejandro gave him a sour look, which he did not take personally. "De Soto," he replied with a grimace. "There was much talk about him today."

"_About_ him?" Victoria asked. She had come to stand by the table, also concerned. "Was he not there?"

"He hasn't attended the meetings in months, perhaps years. Sitting out on his ranch, ignoring everything and everybody." It was true that they rarely saw him in town any more, even though he was still – officially – the alcalde.

"Does anyone know why he has been buying so much gunpowder and lead lately?" Jaime asked, but Don Alejandro shrugged and shook his head.

"His men – the two he has left – never come to town, and he talks to no one. Nor does anyone go out there to visit him." De Soto's ranch was far to the east, beyond the area some were calling Riverside.

"Why was the Council discussing him?"

"Someone suggested he is mismanaging his ranch. You know he didn't send any cattle on our spring drive."

"Will they send someone to see?"

Don Alejandro made another sour face. "No. The consensus is that it is _his_ land, to do with as he wishes. That's true, by the letter of the law. But it makes me nervous to have him out there all alone, with no one knowing what he's planning."

"As long as he stays out there, I don't care," Victoria replied firmly. "The further away from me, the better." And she dismissed thought of her old nemesis, and went to stir the stewpot.


	38. Chapter 38

_**Chapter Thirty-Eight**_

News did make it up to Los Angeles about the rebellion, the war, and the general political situation between Mexico City and Madrid – but always months out of date, and in such contradictory volume that it could only be described in all as wild and woolly rumor. El Halcón was said to be fighting with General Guerrero and the main rebel army, but also said to be still in his mountains, far to the northeast of any battles, robbing travelers and beheading enemies. The cantina staff listened to those stories with the same mildly-interested expressions they heard every other rumor with, spreading none themselves, and only reacting when they were alone. Of definite word, they had none, by any means.

Summer rolled in with the Santa Ana winds, hot and heavy, making everyone listless and cranky. When even calm, serene Marianna snapped at Chico for getting underfoot, Victoria knew it was time to take action. She opened her mouth to suggest they close the cantina for the day – there were very few patrons there anyway – when she saw her sister gasp and clutch the edge of the table she was standing next to. The ripple across her belly was visible to everyone.

Victoria snapped out of it and into action, asking Father to go fetch the midwife, while she helped Marianna up the stairs, out of her restraining clothing, and into bed. The next few hours were the proverbial blur, with Victoria this time in the role of friend and helper, thinking back to the only other birth she had ever been party to: Paulo's. The baby, thankfully, had turned two days before; a fact passed quietly to her by the mother and then confirmed by Maria. For all the anticipation and worry about her small stature, Marianna had a relatively easy time of it, and her infant son announced his displeasure at the process at sunset.

This time it was Victoria's turn to ask about the baby's name. Marianna had kept it to herself, just as Victoria had done – hoping, her sister knew, that Felipe would make it to Los Angeles in time. But the baby's father was still missing.

"We never really talked about names," Marianna confessed. "It wasn't quite real then, for either of us." If the baby had been a girl, she was going to give it her late mother's name, but a boy... Finally, she decided on the name of her younger brother, who had died two weeks after her mother, both of cholera. "Agostino," she said softly, speaking it to the infant's solemn blue eyes. She looked up at Victoria with a shy smile. "We used to call him Tino."

* * *

A bare week after Tino's birth, a man staggered shortly after noon into the cantina, ragged and dusty. Spying Don Alejandro at his usual table, he crossed to him and dropped into the chair opposite unasked. "Señor!" he croaked. "Please! You must help us! You must stop him!"

Don Alejandro looked askance at this dramatic interruption. " 'Him' who? Who are you?"

"Pedro, Don Alejandro," he said, gesturing towards his chest, a little quieter but no less desperate. "I work for Don Ignacio de Soto – or I did, until this morning."

"And what is it you want me to stop him doing?" the don asked, masking his distaste for the subject with a bland tone.

"He is _killing_ his cattle! We told him, both of us, over and over – he was running too many on his land! It could not possibly support that many – double, triple what it could carry! They are starving and thirsting to death! A third of them are dead already, lying all over the ranch, and the rest ready to drop!"

Don Alejandro shared a horrified look with Jaime, who had hobbled over on his cane. But then he shook his head sadly. "I can do nothing, Pedro. The Dons already decided. They are his property, to do with as he wishes."

Pedro was having none of that, though. He reached out and grabbed Don Alejandro's forearm, to the consternation of the other men gathered round. Ignoring their grumbling, he nearly shouted, "You don't understand, Señor! He is _shooting_ them, _all_ the rest, _today!_"

Don Alejandro's eyes and mouth were wide with shock. "_Shooting_ them?" Pedro nodded.

"Right now! Between the eyes, one by one, where they stand crying for food and water! We tried to stop him, Julio and I, but he told us to get out, or he would shoot _us!_ We believed him, Señor, he is _loco!_"

Don Alejandro stood at once, knocking his chair back. Shooting a glance around to see who was there, he singled out several men, telling them to get on their horses and get to the nearest ranches, telling the Dons there what was going on and imploring them to come to de Soto's ranch. Several others he sent to find Teniente Vargas, Father Patricio, Doctor Ramirez, and a half-dozen other respected townsmen with the same message. Then with a quick word to both Jaime and Victoria to stay put, he ran – or as close as someone with his age and dignity would move – for his horse in the stable out back.

As the cantina emptied quickly out, Victoria swallowed a feeling of 'here we go again', and went to get a plate of food for Pedro, on the house.

* * *

It was nearly sunset when Don Alejandro finally returned, dejected, exhausted, covered in dust and uncharacteristically smelling of cows, blood, sweat, and – was that smoke? Moving now at a snail's pace, he slipped in through the patio from the stable and sat heavily at his table. Victoria brought him his favorite wine, and the handful of patrons and family gathered round again.

"We were too late," Father finally said. "The cattle are dead. Now we know why he was making and stockpiling ammunition. He must have been planning this for a while."

Jaime was shaking his head. "You can't have been too late. You got there hours ago. He couldn't have finished that quickly. Even with a third already perished, there would have been hundreds left."

Don Alejandro looked heavily at him. "There are about a hundred still alive – barely. Don Joaquim has moved them onto his land, but it may be too late for them already. They are skin and bones." Don Joaquim had the closest ranch to de Soto's.

"But still – " Jaime began protesting again, but Don Alejandro put up a hand, stopping him.

"I tried," he said, sourly. "He would not listen, but threatened me with a gun. And the others, when they got there..." He couldn't go on for a moment. "Only five of the Dons came. And four of them said the same thing as before: it is his property, to do with as he wishes. They would do nothing. Only Don Orlando tried, with me, to stop him, and Father Patricio, but we got nowhere."

Victoria had sunk down into the other chair, her knees trembling. "But... how can he do _anything_ out there now? All those carcasses... Is he just _leaving_ them?"

Don Alejandro nodded. "Apparently. He said he was giving up on ranching, and returning to the pueblo, to his position as alcalde."

"And what, selling the ranch? No one will buy it. Not with all those dead cows! You couldn't live there!"

"No one can live there, anyway," he said sadly. "We didn't realize it until too late. The first thing he did this morning was to set fire to his house. It is nothing but ashes now. By the time we noticed, it was far too late," he repeated heavily. "It's all gone."

"Everything?" Victoria couldn't believe it. "All the furniture, the art, the dishes, that he has been buying and importing these last five years?" The man had spent a small fortune furnishing the little hacienda, both before and after his "proposal" to her.

"I saw no sign anything had been taken out," Don Alejandro confirmed. "Unless he did it quietly, days ago, and stored it somewhere else..."

They stood or sat quietly for a minute, absorbing this. Then, "So," Jaime said heavily. "We have an alcalde again."

Victoria stared at him, aghast at the implications. Ignacio de Soto, tucked far away on his ranch, ignoring the pueblo – and her family – was a minor, distant irritant she could ignore as she went about her days. A resurgent Alcalde, constantly buzzing around the square outside, barking orders and making lives – including, especially, theirs – miserable and dangerous, was quite another, and _not_ one she was prepared to countenance after all this time. Not with her husband so far away, still suffering under the outrageous, hellish fate de Soto had sentenced him to.

She slowly shook her head. "No." Her voice was flat and uncompromising.

* * *

"Señora, believe me, I am on your side, but there is _nothing_ I can do that I am not already doing!" Teniente Vargas' voice was full of both anger and distress – matching Victoria's, actually.

He stood in the doorway of the kitchen, looking around at the five of them, his campaign hat in hands that looked about to wring the life from the hapless lid. She had called him to the door when he entered the cantina to beg him for his assistance in handling de Soto.

The Council of Dons, predictably, had rolled over like a sack of potatoes, proclaiming that de Soto, still (after all these years) officially appointed to the post by the Crown, after all, had every right, even the responsibility, to resume his duties and position – and perquisites – of alcalde of the Pueblo of Los Angeles. Many of them, all old-fashioned aristos with their noses in the air, utterly unsympathetic to the plight of any from the _lower classes_, were not-so-secretly glad to see him return to duty – and they outnumbered and outvoted any such as Don Alejandro who disagreed.

"And what is that?" Victoria now asked Vargas sharply. "What _can_ you do?"

"Keep watch on him, and carefully obey the letter of the law. I will not pass along illegal orders to my men, or give him armed backing if he seeks to... circumvent the law, or get creative with it." He nodded to Jaime, his meaning clear: the way he did to you and Don Diego. "But he has not crossed any such line, although he has skirted very close."

That was putting it nicely. In the few weeks since he had returned to the pueblo, living once more in the Commander's house inside the garrison (forcing Vargas to vacate it and move to one of the crumbling, decrepit row of houses along the back wall), de Soto had immediately returned to his old tricks, familiar to the de la Vegas – and his former sergeant – from before; bent on enriching himself and laying as much misery as he possibly could on any ordinary citizen within reach. However, strictly speaking, nothing he had done had been outright illegal.

"And if he _does_ cross the line?" Don Alejandro wanted Vargas to state plainly where he stood.

He obliged. "Then I will arrest him, and send to my superiors for instructions."

Victoria took a deep breath to calm herself. "And if the people should rise up, and join the rebellion?" As far as they could tell, it was still raging to the south. No definitive word of any ending of hostilities – with either outcome – had made it that far north, although rumors continued to fly faster and thicker than ever, with "certain" news of every possible situation. The people were in a constant uproar, uncertain what – if anything – was true; and de Soto stood at the center, gleefully stirring the pot.

Vargas dropped his eyes to the floor. "I am an officer in the Army of New Spain," he said quietly. "I am sworn to serve His Majesty." He glanced up at her again. "I don't know," he admitted, even more softly, shaking his head. "I cannot..."

Don Alejandro stood then, waving his hand to let the man off the hook. "We understand, Teniente. I hope you are not placed in such a thorny spot."

After the officer had left, Don Alejandro turned to Victoria and took her hands, concern written on his face. Jaime and Marianna, holding baby Tino, both watched worriedly; even little Paulo was silent, not understanding but knowing his family was troubled – had been troubled, for weeks. It was an unhappy time for everyone.

"What are you planning, daughter?" he asked now, probing.

"I don't know, Father. I don't know _what_ to do. If only we knew what was really going on in the south." She glanced at him, then away, unsaid words ringing in the air, _if only Diego would come home._

He remained silent, gazing at her. Finally, she sighed and shrugged. "I guess the only thing we _can_ do is what Vargas suggests: watch and wait. He'll cross the line sooner or later, and I have no doubt the people will have had enough." She looked fully at him then. "I won't do anything to whip them up, Father. I promise. But if they _do_ rise up, I'll be right there. You know that. I can't stay silent, on the sidelines. I just can't."

He nodded, sadly. "I know." His voice was soft, understanding. "But we need to come up with a plan, just in case, to get others who might get hurt out of the way, and some idea of what to do after."

* * *

One of the things they did, without making any fuss over it, was to bring horses for everyone in from their hacienda and keep them in the stables behind the hotel block. Victoria, her face alight with glee, led Marianna outside one afternoon and to one of the boxes. Inside was a familiar (to Victoria) equine face: Balada. "She's yours now," she told her sister.

Marianna gasped. The mare was magnificent; a full-blooded Andalusian, as petite as her new owner. She stumbled over her thanks, but Victoria brushed them off, and helped her to saddle up. Tino was sleeping soundly, watched over by Don Alejandro, so the two women – Jaime insisting on joining them on his Drummer – took a short ride out into the countryside and back, Marianna ignoring her "unladylike" skirts in her joy at being atop a horse again after several years. Victoria soon saw that she had not been boasting: she _was_ a practiced rider, who handled the mare with ease and a perfect seat.

After that, Marianna quickly sewed herself a split skirt for riding, and they abandoned the little carriage they had been using for their Monday picnics, everyone going a-horseback. Marianna even carried Tino that way, as Balada had an amazingly smooth gait – although she never went above a careful canter – placing him in the strong sling-type carrier across her chest that she carried him in all day anyway. Jaime fussed over that, and would have prevented her if he could, but she handed him the empty sling and told him to rip it apart if he could. He couldn't. Nor, he discovered, could Tino accidentally bounce out of it once it was laced closed over him. He was as secure as if he were riding in a wagon – as long as his mother didn't fall off the horse. That, she laughed, she had never done, and such was Victoria's and Don Alejandro's confidence in the mare (and her long-ago training by Diego), that he was forced to give in – although he always rode very close by her side, just in case.

So the summer progressed, slipping imperceptibly towards fall. The five of them were busy, even after Marianna returned to work, doing slightly less than before. The pueblo roiled and sulked under the influences of the Santa Ana winds, the goading of de Soto, and the never-ending rumors from the south. Don Alejandro thought privately that it might go on like that for quite some time, as de Soto seemed to know _exactly_ when to stop and pull back.

Until the day Chaco rode into town.


	39. Chapter 39 - Part 4

_**Part Four: Doña Victoria**_

_**Chapter Thirty-Nine**_

On a bright, warm Wednesday morning in early fall, Market Day in the pueblo of Los Angeles, dozens of citizens converged on the plaza as they did each week, setting up little stalls all around the edge and through the middle, selling all manner of produce, meats, breads and baked goods, fabric, worked leather, clothing, tools, bedding, toys... everything and anything. All kinds of people sold all kinds of things from all kinds of stalls; from the sturdy wooden tables extending in front of the adobe butcher's shop behind, to a single blanket spread on the ground beside the fountain displaying bits of pottery and baskets. It had always been Victoria's favorite day of the week, and on this day, she had finally persuaded shy new mother Marianna to walk around with her, luring her out in part with a promise of a horseback ride later. Marianna had pointedly donned her split skirt after that, and Victoria, laughing, had done the same. Now Marianna walked behind Victoria, carrying Tino in his little sling and shyly showing him off to the women who asked, Paulo trailing along from his mother's hand, the dog Chico following his mistress and happily sniffing _everything_. They had purchased any number of things and tucked them into the baskets hanging from their arms, and finished the circuit of the plaza flushed and happy, as the sun overhead crept towards its zenith.

Don Alejandro and Don Orlando were sitting at a table on the wide porch of the Cantina Victoria in the late morning sunshine, enjoying cups of strong coffee and watching the people. Don Alejandro glanced up in surprise as they were joined by a third man from inside. "Jaime! Come and join us! Where have you been?"

Jaime shrugged as he pulled out the third chair and sat, leaning his cane against the table edge. "Walking around. Checking on things," he said cryptically, then took a sip of the coffee he had brought out with him.

The elder de la Vega was studying his face curiously. "Why do you look so tense, mi amigo?"

"I don't know," Jaime admitted, looking around at the crowded plaza. "I feel... odd today. Like something is wrong, but I cannot figure out what." He turned back to Don Alejandro. "I'm just... jumpy. My foot itches," he ended wryly.

Don Alejandro snorted, but Orlando looked puzzled. "Your foot?" Why would an itchy foot be troublesome?

"The one that was blown off," Jaime told him, as the women climbed onto the porch with their haul, and came to stand next to the table. "I swear I can feel it, and it itches, but there is nothing to scratch. Where is Teniente Vargas?" he changed the subject. "Is he still sick in bed?"

"Yes, that is what the lancers said," Victoria replied. A pair of them had passed her a short time before and answered the question. "He hopes to be back up and around in a day or two. Nothing too serious," she added, "just a bad cold."

"Good," murmured Jaime, gazing around again with a worried expression.

"Ah, forget it," Don Alejandro told him genially. "You are jumping at nothing," he gently teased – just as, across the plaza, a commotion broke out. The five adults on the porch whipped their heads around to peer across the crowd as a group of horsemen suddenly spurred into the plaza, their shouts joining the screams as people scrambled to get out of their way – and they kept coming, more and more horses piling in behind.

"Am I?" Jaime asked rhetorically, then added sharply, "Marianna, _get inside!_ You too, Victoria, Paulo!" as he rose swiftly to his feet, knocking his chair over behind him.

Marianna, staring wide-eyed at the horsemen, didn't argue, but turned silently and nearly ran for the door, calling a suddenly-growling Chico in at her heels. Victoria opened her mouth to protest, but Don Alejandro added his two centavos: "He's right, Victoria. Please go!" and so with Paulo pulling on her hand, she followed the other woman, shutting the door but not barring it, then stepped over to the window to watch.

Marianna had disappeared into the office at the front corner of the cantina, coming out a moment later and moving swiftly around the bar. Victoria paid her no mind, concentrating on the pandemonium outside – she could now see lancers running from all over the plaza to converge before the garrison gates behind Alcalde de Soto, who had appeared like an apparition, standing and staring at the horsemen still swirling around the fountain, their red uniforms making a screaming slash against the background of noise and movement. When Marianna came out of the kitchen, however, dropping several somethings on the bar with a clatter, Victoria glanced over to her – and stopped and stared. The somethings were an armload of rifles and pistols, and bags of ammunition. Marianna grabbed one of the rifles and began expertly loading it.

"What are you doing?" Victoria asked, stunned.

"I have seen armed men ride into town before," came the grim reply. "I will _not_ be taken hostage in my own home again."

Victoria shook her head, trying to think. "They're soldiers," she pointed out, thinking of those uniforms – but it sounded wrong in her own ears even as she said it.

Marianna's head whipped up to stare at her. "Look again, Señora," she said, her voice low and strained. "Their uniforms are filthy rags. They may have been soldiers once, but now they are _thugs._ The war has come to Los Angeles. Now will you defend yourself – and your son?" she challenged sharply.

Victoria's jaw dropped, and she glanced back through the window again, peering between the men standing outside to see the lancers trying to form up and aim their rifles at the newcomers, who in turn were beginning to line their horses up opposite, behind a huge hulk of a man on a monster of a horse – apparently their leader. Now that they weren't moving quite so fast, she could indeed see what Marianna had already picked out: some wore pieces of uniforms, but even those were torn and dirty. She stepped swiftly over to the bar and picked up a gun. "I'll load the pistols," she said grimly, more familiar with the short guns.

Then she stopped, staring. "I didn't know we had _this _many guns."

Marianna shrugged. "Jaime and I brought several with us, and hid them here and there." Glancing up, she spied Paulo, still standing near the window, and called him around to behind the bar. She picked him up and set him on Jaime's stool, telling him to stay put until "one of us" told him different, then ordered Chico, who had been two steps away from her, as usual, to guard the boy. Chico gave a quiet yip and sat beside the stool, watching alertly, as his mistress turned back to the rifles.

Outside, the three men silently watched the confrontation shaping up before the garrison gates. The lancers had finally gotten themselves into some kind of order under the barked commands of a visibly nervous Sergeant Rojas, and were finally pointing their rifles past de Soto, who continued to stand nonchalantly before their line, and towards the double row of horsemen – who were now all pointing their own guns at the soldiers. Dust filled the plaza, as dozens of citizens continued to scramble towards the edges, picking up what they could of their wares to protect them while keeping an eye on the trouble.

The big man walked his horse out of the line a few steps to meet de Soto. Don Alejandro and the other two strained, but could not make out what either man said – although each did wave their arms at their own men once or twice. The wild, supercilious grin on de Soto's face, which never wavered, did nothing to calm anyone's nerves.

Suddenly de Soto whirled around and shouted orders at the lancers, which the men at the cantina still could not make out, but which caused visible consternation in the pitiful two ranks. Rojas tried to question, but was shouted down and nearly shoved by his commander, and then finally the lancers broke formation, swiveled sharply, and quickly ran inside the garrison gates. With a final sneering wave, de Soto disappeared behind them, and the gates were shut.

"What the _devil_?" Don Alejandro nearly shouted, his face red. As if in answer, the big man pulled his heavy horse around in a showy – if ponderous – rearing turn.

"_I am Chaco!" _he shouted. "_And this town is MINE!"_ With a final, inarticulate roar, he waved his arm in a wide arc – and his men obeyed, whirling their own horses around and launching them around the plaza, running right through stalls, grabbing ropes and dragging down canopies, jumping over tables, scattering goods and screaming people – and shouting and shooting. Citizens began falling in their tracks, screaming or silent, pools of red blood slowly seeping from beneath their bodies.

Without a word, his face insulted and furious, Don Orlando launched himself off the porch and towards Chaco, unsheathing his aristo's sword; Don Alejandro and Jaime, with a profane oath, a few steps behind.

* * *

The sudden roar of shots, screams, shouts, and the clanging of horse's hooves on the cobblestones burst into the cantina and brought the two women up short. They stared at each other, horrified, then without a word, redoubled their efforts at loading the guns with powder and bullets, tamping them down as they had each been taught so long before. Victoria was silently blessing the long-departed Juan Carlos for his lessons when suddenly the front door was kicked open behind her, making her jump.

In staggered Don Alejandro and Jaime, supporting and half-dragging Orlando between them. Victoria gasped and stared; his front, from the chest down, was a mass of blood. The two men brought him over the bar and lowered him gently to the floor to lean against it, then Jaime sprang back to shut and bar both the door and the shutters inside the window, coming back to loom over Don Alejandro's shoulder.

Don Alejandro was still kneeling on one side of Orlando; Victoria swallowed her scream and knelt by his other. "Get out, go. Leave me some guns," Orlando choked out to the other men. "I will cover you, so you can get away." Don Alejandro nodded tersely, stood and moved off.

"No!" was Victoria's automatic response. "Orlando – "

She got no further with her objections. "Victoria!" he cut her off. "Look at me." He waved one hand at his belly. "I will be _dead_ in five minutes – and greeting Pacia." The name stifled her. "You cannot save me. But you _can_ save yourself – and my godson." His breath was coming in painful gasps. "_Go,_ my love. Save yourself." He swallowed, tried to smile, but it was more of a pained grimace. "Let me do this one last thing for you, before I die."

_Oh now is no time to be noble!_ she wanted to scream, but another glance down and the words died in her throat. Blood was now streaming down to the floor – he had been shot at least twice in the abdomen with a shotgun. Looking back into his face, she reacted impulsively; leaned forward and kissed him, staring into his eyes the whole time.

When she pulled back, she took a breath to speak, but he forestalled that, too. "Ssh," he whispered quickly, then a single, soft, "Go." A loud clatter to her right startled her, but it was only Jaime, stacking a pair of benches on their sides to give Orlando a bit of cover between him and the door.

With a sob, she threw herself to her feet and ran around the end of the bar, grabbing one of the rifles on her way and slinging it over her shoulder, then picking up a shaking Paulo and holding him close.

"Rifles or pistols?" Jaime asked tersely.

"Pistols," Orlando managed. Jaime grabbed two of the ones on the bar and a small bag of ammunition, setting them on the floor beside the dying man. Then he leaned over and put his hand on Orlando's shoulder.

"Vaya con Dios," he said quietly.

"You too. Take care of them."

Don Alejandro came out of the office then, with a saddlebag over one shoulder. Seeing the preparations, he nodded at Orlando, his expression pained but resolute. He had lived through many such upsets in his long, eventful life. Orlando nodded back once, and Don Alejandro headed for the kitchen door behind all the others, he and Jaime picking up the remaining guns as they went by.

They were waiting for him at the door in the wall between the patio and the alley: Victoria had set Paulo on his feet again and was holding his hand, she and Marianna both had rifles slung over their shoulders, while the new mother cradled her son in his sling securely against her chest. Jaime looked at his elder, "You lead. I'll bring up the rear."

Don Alejandro nodded wordlessly, slipped to the door and opened it a crack, peering carefully out. The alley was nearly empty, a handful of frightened citizens streaking past to escape the carnage in the plaza. Glancing that way, he could see only dust and shadows past the narrow opening between the buildings. He waved the others to come out behind him, then turned and walked quickly around behind the hotel block to the stables.

There, Paulo broke free of Victoria's hand and ran to his pony. "Dancer!" he cried. "Mama, help me saddle him!"

"Paulo, no!" She came swiftly to him, took him by the shoulders and turned him to face her, then knelt down. "Paulo, I am so sorry. But we must go _fast_, faster than Dancer can go. He cannot keep up with the big horses. I'm sorry. I promise, we'll return for him as soon as we can." She had no idea whether or when they might, or if the pony would still be there – and she knew her intelligent son was probably seeing through her empty promise – but it still had to be made. Without giving him time to object, she took his hand again and led him to Fuego's stall.

There she got a surprise. All four of their horses were already saddled and bridled. Even Don Alejandro was looking around with the question.

"I tacked them up this morning," Jaime said gruffly as he slipped inside the stables, bringing up the rear. "I told you I was restless." Bending over, he made a stirrup of his hands to lift Marianna carefully up onto Balada, Tino still in his sling on her chest, and then did the same for Victoria as Don Alejandro mounted his mare. Then Jaime took Paulo under the arms and lifted the boy to the saddle in front of his mother.

"Paulo," Victoria said softly, "hold on to the saddle horn and _do not let go_, _no matter what._"

"Yes, Mama," he replied, his voice full of unshed tears. She took a moment to hold him close, hugging him from behind, then gathered the reins, and followed her father-in-law out the stable door.

They got no further than the end of the block before gunfire erupted behind them, coming from inside the cantina. Victoria gasped, involuntarily pulling Fuego to a halt and looking back. "_Orlando!_" His face filled her mind, kind and smiling; still her good friend, even if no longer her potential suitor. Even now, she couldn't bear to think of that heartache. _How had all this happened so damn fast?_ It couldn't have been more than fifteen minutes since the horsemen rode into the square.

But before she could make good on her impulse to turn Fuego back around, Don Alejandro grabbed her hands on the reins. "Victoria!" he nearly shouted. "Do not make his sacrifice useless! _Go!_"

Her face contorted in anguish, she kicked her heels into Fuego's sides, pointing the stallion out of town.


	40. Chapter 40

_**Chapter Forty**_

The pueblo of Los Angeles had grown significantly over the previous decade, to the point where it now boasted a dozen streets (albeit short) in each direction. The four de la Vegas warily rode their horses on a winding path from block to block, peeking around corners to make certain the way was clear. They could still hear the pandemonium in the plaza, but it was thinner, more diffuse – the horsemen were apparently beginning to spread their terror out from the center. They had entered the plaza from the main road leading north, however, so Don Alejandro felt they were likely to encounter no enemies on their way east to their hacienda.

They made it to the edge of town and spurred their mounts onto the eastward road, going at a fast canter now to get quickly away. Jaime, Victoria noticed when she glanced back, was riding close beside Marianna's horse in case of trouble. The younger woman was expertly guiding Balada with one hand as she held Tino close in his sling, cushioning any hard bumps that might have jarred the months-old infant. She caught Victoria's questioning glance and nodded, unsmiling, in reassurance, then called again to the dog, Chico, running alongside Balada's hooves.

The country they rode through was filled with low hills, covered at that time of year with golden dry grass and wild wheat, dotted with majestic oaks and low-slung adobe houses surrounded by split-rail fences guarding vegetable gardens and stock corrals. The road ran straight east for nearly half a mile before beginning to wind around those hills. They hadn't made it a quarter mile, however, before a shout came from behind. Glancing back, they saw two of the armed invaders spurring hard after them. They had been spotted.

Without a word, each of the four dug their heels into their mounts and held on as the horses leapt forward, slipping into a thundering gallop down the road. Jaime took his rifle off his shoulder and held it ready, holding Drummer back just a step to let Marianna slip before him. She glared back at him, though. "Don't you _dare,_ hermano!" He started, then grinned, and kicked Drummer back into step with Balada.

More angry shouts from behind showed they were still being pursued. Glancing quickly back and roughly gauging the distance, Jaime shouted, "They're gaining on us!"

But now they were approaching their old ranch. Just past the first bend, Victoria knew, was the cutoff that led to the badlands; the wild, tangled, impenetrable mix of thorny scrub and twisting, rocky arroyos that Zorro had used to such good effect, masking his comings and goings for five long years.

And after her years of explorations with Fuego, _no one_ knew those paths better than she did.

"This way!" she shouted, dragging Fuego's head onto the cutoff and digging in her heels. He laid his ears back and powered into a dead run. She crouched as low as she could, telling Paulo to lean forward and _hang on_, and glanced back under her own arm to verify the others were following.

The turn and the start of the cutoff were still in the open, so of course their pursuers saw them go, and spurred their own horses after, whooping for the chase. But their horses were ordinary cowpunching quarterhorses.

The de la Vegas were on purebred Andalusians.

The Andalusian is one of the smartest, bravest, hardest-working and most loyal breeds in the world. They have been bred for centuries to be the knight's best and absolutely loyal companion and assistant – as well as the most beautiful. With a heart and stamina second to none, an Andalusian will beat any comer in any race through any terrain, regardless of the weight they carry, and enjoy their oats after knowing they had earned them.

Fuego. Dulcinea. Balada. Drummer. A stallion, two mares, and one gelding, whose mixed breeding he shed like dead skin as he ran after the rest, his big heart giving him the raw strength to keep up with his stablemates, determined to keep his master on his back safe. Jaime grinned with satisfaction that matched his horse's as they slowly pulled away from their pursuers.

Then he glanced again, frowning. Chico had fallen behind, unable to run as fast as the horses. The outlaws were gaining on the black hound. Looking forward again, he saw Marianna look around and realize the situation, but before she could pull Balada up, he yelled, "Keep going! He'll catch up!" Knowing her deep love for her canine companion, he could only pray he was right.

A bullet came singing after them, well wide of the mark, but warning nevertheless. But then Fuego hit the lip of the first arroyo and leapt down onto the path to the bottom, sparked his shoe on a rock, and scorched his way up the narrow defile. Three sets of pounding hoofbeats followed.

Seeing the layout of the badlands as if she were a bird floating above, Victoria laid out a twisting path in her mind, leading them around near the perimeter of the scrub. Fuego must have remembered the way himself from all those long rides after Paulo was born, for he took the curves and followed her reins into the various forks without hesitation. After the first plunge, she kept him back from his fastest pace by a tiny degree, making sure not to lose her family drumming along behind.

After several heartpounding minutes and an unknown number of twists and turns, she pulled him up in a stand of tall pines, the thick needles underfoot muffling their hoofbeats and smothering the dust that might have given them away. The other three quickly joined her, stopping their mounts and panting as quietly as they could.

"Everyone all right? Marianna? Is Tino all right?" Victoria checked around.

Marianna glanced down at her infant, then gave Victoria a slight nod. "Sleeping soundly. Balada's run is as smooth as a rocking horse." Her face was wretched and tear-stained, however, as she turned to stare down their back trail. "Chico!"

Victoria noticed then that the dog was missing. "What happened?"

Jaime answered, glancing at Marianna with grave concern. "He fell behind on the cutoff – couldn't keep up. And when we reached the arroyo, he stopped... and attacked the riders when they came." He shook his head then, not knowing how it turned out.

The path was still empty. "No..." Marianna whimpered. "Chico..."

Now Victoria turned and listened hard, staring at their back trail – what little could be seen. All was silence; neither animal nor human noise. "Did we lose them?"

"_Them?_" Don Alejandro pounced, his face a study in confusion and concern. "You lost _me!"_ He snorted. "Where _are_ we?"

Jaime answered again, visibly unwillingly. "We lost them several minutes ago," he told Victoria quietly. "They turned back at the sandy wash, where they could see Verro's farm to get out. I heard them." He shook his head to silently add, _No sound of Chico._

She nodded back at him, then turned to Father with a deep breath. "We're half a mile from the hacienda, Tio Alejo. And more to the point, we're even closer to Zorro's tunnel!" She couldn't help the note of triumph that snuck into her voice – regardless of the dog's loss, it _was_ one hell of an achievement.

He barked a little laugh in surprise, then swept a hand grandly. "Then lead on, Doña Caballera!"

* * *

Ten minutes more found them riding more slowly through a larger arroyo, approaching the spot Victoria knew the entrance to Zorro's tunnel was hidden behind a strategically-placed manzanita bush. Diego had shown it to her shortly after their marriage, riding with her that way and showing her how to trigger the mechanism.

If she could find it now.

"Fuego," she whispered past Paulo's head, "if you have any blood knowledge from your sire, use it now. Find that rock!"

Whether he did know, or was merely lucky, a few moments later he swerved slightly to step on a large, flat boulder – and ahead of them, the big, ancient manzanita swung outwards on its hinge, and the old wooden door hidden in the shadows behind swung inwards, revealing the dark entrance in a fold of the arroyo's wall. Victoria triumphantly steered the stallion into the dark without hesitating, hearing the other three clopping in behind, then the bush and door swung back, and she blew out a heavy sigh of relief. Safe at last.

As it was still early afternoon, there was enough light coming in through the strategically-placed holes in the ceiling of the tunnel and the cavern beyond it to see. She nudged Fuego over to the far side, next to some stacked crates and boxes, to make room for the others, then slipped off his side and lifted Paulo down. "Loosen the girths, but don't unsaddle," cautious Jaime advised unnecessarily.

Marianna slipped down off Balada and let the reins drop, letting Jaime take care of the girth. Head down, she walked softly to a crate and wriggled her head and shoulder out of Tino's sling, setting him atop the crate and spreading the sides, checking the baby's condition and that of his diaper.

Victoria went to her sister's side and put an arm around her shoulders. "I'm so sorry. I know how much you cared about Chico."

That did it. Marianna's face crumpled, and she wilted in tears onto Victoria's shoulder. The other woman hugged her as she sobbed, "He's been my companion and my protector, ever since Felipe gave him to me as a puppy!"

"We don't know what happened!" Victoria told her softly. "He's probably..." She couldn't finish it. The chances weren't good. Instead, she ended softly, "I promise, when we leave here, we'll look for him – if we can," her innate honesty made her add. Two promises that day on finding animals, and she didn't know if she would be able to make good on either one of them.

Marianna lifted her head and looked into Victoria's eyes, her own unreadable. She gave her a tiny smile for the attempt, nodded, then returned to changing the baby's diaper for one she pulled out from under him in the sling.

Baby changed, horses taken care of and watered from the barrel in the corner (leftover from Zorro's days and automatically fed with the rain), the group cautiously climbed the stone stairway. Victoria showed the others the spyhole, and made sure the hacienda's front room, at least, was empty – and could hear no sounds from elsewhere – before pushing the stone that opened the door in the fireplace.

There she stared around her, surprised. "Where is everything?" She hadn't come back since that night she and Father had spent there, mourning Diego – but now the room, and the other she could see across the hall – was nearly bare, only the largest pieces of furniture remaining in place.

"It's all stored away, mostly in the barn," Don Alejandro replied. He gave her a tight, satisfied smile. "Did you think I was doing nothing all these months?" All the times she had thought he was visiting his friends, the other Dons, she realized, at least some of them he had been here, packing his old life away. She didn't want to think about what that signified for his idea of his future. She gave him a sad smile in return, placing a hand softly on one arm, then moved to the front door, not wanting to stay inside that room, that house, so full of memories.

"Victoria, wait," he called after her, and she stopped, turning a questioning look at him. Before he could explain, the front door opened, startling them – but it was Miguel, the farmer who had come north with Marianna. Anita, his wife, was on his heels, burlap bags full of something in each of their arms. Glancing out through the window, Marianna saw their three children playing in the yard. Her breath catching, she stayed by the window, searching as far as she could see for a glimpse of Chico.

Startled confusion reigned, until Don Alejandro, laughing, explained they had come in through the tunnel. The Cordobas had been shown the secret entrances and the cavern, just in case they needed a bolt hole. A terse description followed of the pueblo's invasion, and their having been chased from town – the magnitude of what had happened pouring over Victoria and the others like cold water. What was going on now in those streets, to those people?

"Victoria," Don Alejandro turned back to her again, returning to his interrupted thought. He sighed heavily, then straightened his back with steely resolution. "It is time to go." He waved away sharply her immediate, obvious thought. "No, I don't mean from the hacienda. I mean from Los Angeles." He paused. "We promised each other that when the time came, if it became too dangerous to remain here, that we would take up everyone and go south to Marenga, and wait for Diego and Felipe there, where they said they would meet us. That time has come."

All four of the others were watching the exchange silently. Victoria shook her head. "We don't know – "

He cut her off. "No, we don't. But that was a _huge_ group of outlaws – "

He was cut off in turn, by Jaime, the old soldier. "Thirty-seven." He had counted them nearly automatically, even as he had plunged off the porch after the two Dons.

"Thirty-seven," Don Alejandro replied, his raised eyebrows giving the significance. "They overran the pueblo while we watched, and the Alcalde, and the lancers, did nothing."

"_Nothing?_" several voices cried at once.

Don Alejandro and Jaime both shook their heads, disgust mirrored on each. "De Soto made some sort of deal with that leader – "

"Chaco," Jaime supplied again.

"Chaco," Don Alejandro went on smoothly, "while we all stood there, then ordered the lancers inside the garrison and barred the gate. He deliberately turned his back on the town, and then that _group_ began tearing the market down." He paused, letting that sink in. "No, we _don't_ know what has happened since, what has happened to the cantina – but we heard it being broken into, and the shots fired." The name Orlando flashed behind his eyes, but he didn't say it aloud – didn't need to. "Victoria," he ended portentiously. "the pueblo has fallen. It is too dangerous to return. It's time to go."

Victoria took a deep, gasping breath. "I hate to lose my cantina," she murmured. It had been such a big part of her life.

"Perhaps we can return and recover it," he said soothingly. "But that is a decision for _all_ of us, _including_ my sons." His meaning was clear.

Slowly, Victoria nodded – then gasped in exasperation. "The money in the safe – "

"Is no longer there," Father smiled. "It's in my saddlebags, on Dulcinea. I emptied it out."

"That's what you were doing in the office," Jaime commented wryly, getting a satisfied nod in reply.

"It's time to go," Don Alejandro repeated to Victoria. As everyone else turned to look at her, waiting for her decision, she nodded again.

"All right." She hadn't wanted to say it, but knew she had no choice. Her hands were ice cold.

Marianna looked out the window again, searching for her dog once more, but saw new danger instead. "Oh, no!" she gasped. "Everyone into the cavern. They are _coming_!"

Running to the windows, all of them gasped and stared. On the road to the pueblo, a large plume of dust had appeared, kicked up by _many_ horses.


	41. Chapter 41

_**Chapter Forty-One**_

Anita Cordoba ran to the front door and ripped it open, running outside to gather her children. Picking up the baby – nearly a year old now – she tersely ordered the two older ones inside the house. Well-trained little partisan kids, they did not argue at their mother's urgent expression, but scrambled up and through the door, holding hands. Miguel and Jaime had picked up the two bags the Cordobas had dropped on the floor, and the entire group ducked through the fireplace and down the stairs, Father waiting until last to make sure the secret entrance closed properly, leaving no trace of their passage behind.

He waited by the spyhole, watching, his breath catching, until the front door slammed open again. He couldn't see well at that angle, but at least two of the intruders stumbled into the formerly elegant parlor, enough to identify them: they were indeed members of the outlaw gang. Pulling back in outrage and unacknowledged fear, he softly covered the spyhole again, turned, and trod slowly, softly, down the stone steps to the cavern. At the white faces turned to him, he nodded wordlessly.

They stood still for several long minutes, listening to the invasion above their heads: rough, obscene shouts and laughter; crashes and bangs as bodies ran into things, and furniture and glass were shattered; heavy boots tramping from one end to the other. Don Alejandro had never realized how well sound carried down into the cavern from all parts of his beloved, lifelong home.

Jaime had been listening hard, his eyes closed. After a time, he opened them and looked at Miguel. "I count fifteen," he commented, and Miguel nodded back.

"Maybe a couple more. That one voice..."

"That's Chaco. The leader," Jaime identified him. The man's heavy tread and booming shout had been unmistakable. "At least we know where _he_ is," Jaime tried to reach for a positive.

Don Alejandro took a deep breath and made a decision. "We'll wait here until dark, then sneak back out through the tunnel and begin our journey south." No one argued with him; the look on his face showed how painful it would be to leave everything behind, and allow himself to be chased out of his own home by the ruffians above. He went on, waving a hand towards the boxes stacked along one wall. "What is all that stuff? I didn't put anything down here."

Miguel grinned, hoisting his bag again and carrying it to that side. "It's food, and supplies. I've been storing bits and pieces here since you showed me the tunnel." Glancing at the elder's surprise, he shrugged apologetically. "I was a partisan for too many years. If you have some extra supplies, and a safe place to store them, then put them there. You never know when they might be needed in a hurry."

Don Alejandro gave a small, light laugh. "Well, this changes things. And I, for one, am grateful. We won't be going south completely empty-handed." He stopped then, realizing. "Your family will be going with us now?"

Miguel traded a glance, and then a nod, with his wife. "Our farm has been lost again," he said softly, adding sourly, "not the first time." Then he stuck his chin up, determinedly cheerful, but simply nodded once more.

"All right," Don Alejandro said past a wince at a particularly loud, glass-tinkling crash from above. "We'll load up as much as we can on our horses, to take with us. Too bad we don't have a wagon," he added wryly, eyeing the stack of goods: much more than they could take a-horseback. But then he noticed Miguel grinning again. "_Do_ we have a wagon?" he asked pointedly.

Miguel nodded. "The one we came north in. I hid it in that pine woods near the road. But we don't have horses to pull it," he added regretfully.

This time it was Jaime's turn to laugh softly. "That is not a problem, either. There are more than a dozen hanging around outside the hacienda." He turned back to Don Alejandro. "We'll sneak out after dark, as you say, and get to the wagon. Then Miguel and I," he gestured towards the other man, who grinned agreement as he divined Jaime's plan, "will come back and get a couple of them to pull it." He paused, then sent a very wry grimace to Marianna. "And actually _commit_ the crime for which I was convicted and sentenced." She nodded silently, a tiny, wretched smile stretching the corners of her mouth.

"Then let's load up the horses as much as we can," Don Alejandro cemented the plan. "We won't try to come back for more, though." He didn't bother adding the _too dangerous_.

Before they could move, however, a woman's unmistakable scream came from above. And then a second woman joined her.

The six adults: Don Alejandro, Jaime, Miguel, Victoria, Marianna, Anita; all stared at each other, horrified at what they were hearing. Suddenly Don Alejandro pulled out the pistol he had been carrying under his belt all morning, checked it, and swiveled on his foot as if to make for the stairway, his face nearly purple with rage.

But Jaime was there, in his way. "What are you doing?" he whispered harshly.

Don Alejandro stopped and stared, unbelieving. He gestured upwards with the gun. "That is happening... In. My. House." He took a breath. "You don't expect me to sit here and _listen_, do you?"

Jaime stepped right up into his elder's face, visibly steeling himself. "You _cannot_ help them, amigo. You will never reach them. Oh, yes," he nodded, his distress showing, "you can charge up these stairs and into the house, with me, and Miguel, right behind you. But there are nearly _twenty_ heavily armed men up there, Don Alejandro. You will _– we_ will _never_ make it past them. Those women will still suffer. We three will all be _dead_, lying on the floor. And those men – those _animals_ – will find their way down here, and take _our_ women, use them, and _kill_ them. _And_ the children." He took a deep breath before continuing harshly. "You will sentence yourself, Victoria, Marianna, _and_ your grandsons, _and_ the rest of us, all to death. And accomplish _nothing_."

Don Alejandro was staring, aghast. At last he found his voice again, a ragged whisper that Victoria had to strain, unwillingly, to hear. "You expect me to just _sit_ here... and _listen?_" he repeated, unable to get past that awful implication.

Absolutely wretched, Jaime slowly nodded. "I will sit with you, mi amigo. And we will remember... what hell war is. What it forces men of conscience to do."

Victoria watched, horrified by it all, and her own silent, impotent complicity, as Father staggered slowly back a step, then another. Wilting, he turned and found the bench that had been placed against the far wall, sinking onto it as he dropped his pistol on the floor, and put his head in both hands. She could see his shoulders shaking, harder as each scream from above, coming now fainter and further apart, reached them. Jaime sat heavily beside him, leaned back against the rock wall and closed his eyes, tears streaking his wretched face.

"Mama?" She had nearly forgotten Paulo, but here he was clutching her skirts, his bewildered face searching hers for answers. She had none to give. Sinking down onto the hard, cold floor, she pulled him into her lap and tried to cover both their ears. "Shh, my darling. We must be quiet, and wait. We cannot let those bad men above find us." Marianna, she noticed, had found a seat on a box nearby and was cuddling her infant son, silent tears streaking her cheeks, while the Cordobas huddled all together in the corner, trying, as she was, to comfort their children and keep them quiet.

And so they waited, and tried not to hear.

Some unknowable time later, Jaime could no longer stand it. His eyes flew open, and he stood shakily but with a rock-hard resolute face, and looked across the dim space. "Doña Marianna," he began, his whisper somehow still formal. "Give me an order. Please." One hand holding his pistol, the other a sharp knife produced from somewhere, left no doubt what order he wanted.

Victoria looked from one to the other. She had always known that Jaime considered himself Marianna's guardian, and therefore under her command, but he had never before put it so plainly. What would the young noblewoman do?

Marianna raised her head and stared back at him with tragic eyes in her tearstained face. Then, astoundingly, she shook her head slightly. "It is over, mi hermano," she whispered softly. "Their torment is finished." In the silence that fell they all suddenly realized the screaming had stopped. How long before? No one knew.

Dimly, Victoria registered an angry male shout from above, making her skin crawl. "Did you have to kill them, Chaco? I didn't get my turn!" The shots a second later, followed by Chaco's – and others' – obscene laughter, hardly made any of the listeners flinch.

Marianna had let her eyes drift away from Jaime, staring straight and levelly ahead, her face a mask of hardened resolve. "We will remember _all_ who died this day," she said quietly, and no one doubted a word. "They will be honored. And someday, Dios willing, avenged." Victoria shuddered, remembering the younger woman's scars, not wanting to know what memories were clouding her eyes. _And everyone in town_, she thought. _Including Orlando_. Not yet able to face the fact of her good friend's death, she shuddered and hugged Paulo, trying to think of something else.

Jaime sank back down on the bench, lost in his own regrets, as each of them were. A few more minutes passed in silence, then Don Alejandro stiffly stood in turn, looking far older than he had that morning. "Miguel," he said, his voice shaking slightly. "Show me what you have stored here. Let's begin loading up the horses, so we will be ready when night falls." It would not be long now. He didn't bother stating their obvious need for the distraction. "Leave room for the children to ride, but the rest of us will walk. And we will not come back for more," he repeated his earlier admonition with a shudder.

Slowly the others got to their feet. "Mama, I'm hungry," Paulo whimpered. Victoria looked down helplessly.

"Here, Doña Victoria," came Anita's soft call. She was holding out a small package she'd taken from one of the bags they had brought down the stairs earlier. "Dried smoked beef. We should all have some."

Slowly, carefully, quietly, the six adults surveyed the goods, selected the lightest and most valuable, and strapped them onto the four Andalusians standing along the outer wall near the tunnel entrance. The horses seemed to grasp their need, and stood quietly, accepting their new fates stoically – even high-strung Fuego.

When no more could be added, Don Alejandro stood back and nodded. "All right. We're ready." Glancing up at the fading light through the overhead portholes, he added, "half an hour," then went to sit on the bench again to wait, munching slowly on a last strip of jerky. The other two men joined him, holding their rifles. The guns Marianna and Victoria had loaded that morning at the cantina, so long ago now, had been distributed among the adults.

Victoria sat once more with Anita and their children in the far corner, sharing jerky and water from the barrel in the corner. Marianna, baby Tino napping in an empty box for the moment, made a last check of the straps on Balada and turned to join them. Then she stopped cold, gasping as she whirled about to stare into the tunnel darkness.

"_Alarm!_" she hissed. She pointed into the tunnel with one hand as the other reached for the strap of the rifle on her back. "_Someone's coming!_"

Everyone scrambled to their feet, Victoria and Anita shoving the children gently behind their skirts, the men lining up across the floor side by side, rifles at the ready. _How had the outlaws found the tunnel entrance, when no one else ever had since it was built?_ Victoria wondered fleetingly, but then dropped the thought in her terror as the shapes of men – many of them – appeared in the darkness. They were coming fast, nearly trotting, but utterly silently, making the eerie scene even more frightening.

Into the cavern rushed the first two, side by side with many more in the shadows behind them – then they screeched to a halt before the line of guns, staring at those holding them. One of them threw up a hand beside his head, and the taller shape behind him hissed the group to a halt.

"Are you really going to _shoot_ me, Father?" came the last voice she expected to hear, startled but cool.

All thoughts, all fears, all awareness of everyone and everything else drained away from Victoria in an instant as she stared, openmouthed and lightheaded, at the one face she most wanted to see in the world; gaunt, unshaven, distraught, but unmistakably that of her missing husband.

After five endless, aching years, Diego had come home.


	42. Chapter 42

_**Chapter Forty-Two**_

"Diego," Victoria whispered. It came out the slightest, noiseless breath, but still he heard. His head whipped around, his eyes finding hers unerringly and locking on, a blaze of blue fire. And then without conscious thought, she flew across the floor and into his arms.

The next few milliseconds surely lasted a thousand blurred years, as they stared and touched and whispered and caressed and wept and shared frantic kisses. "You're here," she whispered, over and over, and so did he, both celebrating and verifying. Gradually she began to believe the evidence of her senses. All at once, with a sharp gasp, the cavern around them snapped back into her awareness, and she knew with almost painful acuteness who was standing a few feet behind her. Smiling tearfully at her husband, she moved back just one tiny step, half-turned and knelt down in the same motion, pulling him down beside her with one hand on his sleeve, the other one held out to their son, his eyes huge in his white, four-year-old's face.

"Paulo, come," she whispered, her voice a little stronger now, and filled with all the maternal reassurance she could manage at the moment. "This is your father. He's come home."

The boy looked back and forth between them for a moment, then slipped cautiously to her side, almost peeking around her at the strange man.

Diego took a deep, shaky breath, then spoke, her ears picking out the effort he made to keep it light. "Hello, Paulo. I've heard so much about you, from Gino. Do you remember Gino?" Paulo nodded solemnly. Diego fumbled for a second, then added, "I'm so glad to finally meet you, son." The last word echoed in Victoria's mind.

"Are you really my Papa?" Paulo quavered. Diego nodded. "And are you going to make the bad men go away?"

Diego gasped slightly, then nodded again. "Yes. I am. Your uncle and I, and his men, are going to do that now." Contrary to the word, he didn't stand, but held out one shaky hand – the one not still around his wife's waist – as if to touch the boy, but didn't quite reach all the way, afraid of scaring him off.

Paulo decided it suddenly, launching himself without a sound at his father and flinging his little arms around the man's neck. Diego wrapped his large, free arm around Paulo, then buried his face in his son's shoulder, his own shaking with unshown sobs. Victoria clutched his arm, her own tears starting again, and Diego managed to stand, pulling both of them up with him. Victoria stepped back to him, then, wrapping her arms around his waist and Paulo's little body and laying her head on his other shoulder. The trio, family reunited at last, stood like that for a long, long time, ignoring everything and everyone around them.

Another series of crashes and bangs from above finally penetrated their awareness, and Diego lifted his head at last, sharing an intense look and quick, longing kiss with Victoria. "And now I have to go and do just that," he managed. "Paulo..." The boy raised his head to look at Diego, who managed a little smile. "Stay here with your mother. I'll be back soon." As Paulo nodded solemnly and loosened his arms, Diego transferred him to Victoria's hold. She made herself nod at her husband, and stepped back with the boy half a dozen steps to the wall, putting herself between Marianna, on the one hand, and Anita and her children, grouped together in the corner, on the other; letting Diego go to work. He gave her a long, intense stare as if memorizing her face all over again, then turned to the group of men by the bench.

She watched him go stand beside another man, taller than average but several inches shorter than Diego – a soldier, she realized, dressed in a crisp uniform – an officer, from the insignia on his shoulder. He made a stark contrast with Diego's neat grey civilian suit. She couldn't see his face, as it was turned away, talking to Father and Jaime as they sat on the bench, Miguel Cordoba standing alongside. The officer had long, thick brown hair tied back with a leather thong and hanging down between his shoulder blades, and a neatly-trimmed beard, from what she could see from behind his shoulder. She glanced to her right and saw that all the other men who had come in, standing quietly in a line back into the tunnel, were also in uniform, and shivered. _Diego brought the Army? But __he__ is no longer in it? What is going on here?_ As she brought her eyes back to the front, another even older soldier, with grizzled white hair and mustache, standing at the officer's far shoulder, caught her glance and nodded to her as if he recognized her.

It wasn't until the lead officer turned his head briefly to glance at her husband that she saw his full profile, and recognized him. It was Felipe. Victoria slowly blinked as if clearing her sight, then her brows rose to her hairline above wide, staring eyes. Even with all the stories she had heard about "the Capitán" from both Marianna and Jaime over the preceding months, she couldn't manage to turn the shy, scrawny, mute little boy – _young man,_ she corrected her thoughts even then – into this mature, well-built, self-assured officer. She turned her head to give her brows-raised stare to Marianna, two steps away, knowing her sister would read her mind.

Instead, Marianna was holding both her hands over her mouth, underneath eyes that streamed tears. When she those eyes were pulled to Victoria's, however, the hands dropped to reveal a wide, joyful smile. "Chico is all right," she whispered brokenly. "He's in their camp!"

Victoria's jaw dropped as she gasped in delight, reaching with her free right hand to grab Marianna's and squeeze it tightly.

Marianna visibly made herself move past the dog's fate, whispering, "These men are all from his company. That's Teniente Costa," she nodded towards the old soldier.

"What's with the uniforms?" Victoria asked, but got a headshake in reply.

"I don't know – yet," Marianna ended pointedly.

Bringing her attention at last back to Diego and Felipe, Victoria saw they had worked themselves into a whispered argument about something. Diego was looming over the younger man, nearly snarling into his ear, while Felipe stared stonily ahead at the wall, giving clipped replies. At some final riposte of Diego's, his head whipped around, then he swiveled on his foot to give his reply. Now Victoria, straining a little, could make parts of it out.

"That's not some small group of outlaws up there," he snarled back, his jaw tight. "That is an _army_, who altogether outnumber the men I currently command. I will counter them the only way I can. Yes, this is how I intend to begin." He paused, glaring. "Now, are you finished?" he asked, obviously straining to speak levelly.

Diego straightened up; staring at the wall in his turn. "Si, Capitán," he replied – but Victoria (and everyone else) could see he was still seething.

"Good," replied Felipe. "Stay here, and guard the family. Once we've all gone through, take them out the tunnel and back to the camp. You're still Alcalde."

"Si, Capitán," was the tight-jawed repeat.

Felipe gave a disgusted "Gah!", looking away for a moment, then returned, calling "Hey!" in an exasperated whisper. When Diego glanced down at his face, one corner of Felipe's mouth stretched in an incipient smile. "Take care of my wife and son for me till I get back. Hmm?"

The tiny little snorted laugh softened Diego, pulling out an equally tiny, wry smile in response. "You bet." He stepped back a pace, saying, "Vaya con Dios, Capitán."

That made Felipe's smile broaden, till one side of his mouth was stretched wide. Flicking his eyes sideways, he caught sight of Victoria standing there, and in quick succession turned his head fully towards her, smile spreading to both sides of his face, and he winked at her!

Before she could do more than raise her eyebrows again in response, Felipe had whirled around, leaped lightly up to the second step, then turned back to face his men and raise one palm, his face suddenly completely serious. The troop, which had been relaxing a bit, straightened hurriedly, coming to attention. He then snapped out a series of hand signals Victoria didn't want to understand, then held up a fist. One man in particular, standing out of line at the tunnel entrance – with a start, she recognized Gino, who had come north with the others so long before – relayed the signals to the men still in the dark tunnel, then turned back with his own fist raised – a ready signal.

Felipe shot one last, smoldering glance at Marianna, then whipped his raised fist around in a circle above his head, turned, and headed up the stairs. The men, led by the old soldier, poured swiftly and silently out of the tunnel, across the floor, and up the stairs after him, and were gone.

Diego slipped up the stairs after them, and she realized he was securing the secret doorway. When he came back down a moment later, she caught his eye, and asked her burning question. "He's in uniform?" at the same time Marianna, beside her, said, "He's a soldier?"

"In the Mexican National Army," came from a most unexpected source: Jaime. He grinned across at the women. "Costa told me, while you were busy. We won! Mexico is independent, and California with it!"

The news washed over Victoria like a cold flood. All those rumors swirling around the pueblo the past few months... some of them, anyway, had been correct. Beside her, Marianna surprised her again by whispering breathlessly, "_Viva Mexico!_", and Jaime nodded and repeated it. And then so did Diego, turning his proud gaze on his father.

Don Alejandro stood shakily, and nodded back, a teary smile claiming the corners of his mouth. "Viva Mexico," he said in a low voice, then turned puzzled eyes on his eldest son. "But why does that put Felipe in uniform?"

"He is taking command of the garrison here in town," Diego said. "Cleaning it up."

"The _garrison?_" from Marianna.

Diego nodded at her again. "It was his one request, his reward for his service during the war, from General Guerrero."

His listeners absorbed that in silence for a moment, in various flavors of stunned, then Marianna spoke up, to no one in particular, her voice as close to sarcastic as Victoria had ever heard it, "Oh. Joy. Army wife again."

"Well, at least you know he won't put you into a veil," Diego told her reasonably, amending it immediately to, "or try to," as she shot him a dire look. Then he slipped into seriousness. "Let's go," he said, adding, "we set up camp back in the pine grove. We need to get all of you out of here." Noticing for the first time the horses at the far end, already saddled and loaded with packs, he walked over to the end, then stopped in surprise.

"Fuego?" His voice was full of amusement. "A pack horse?" He sighed. "Oh, how the mighty have fallen," he said with false sadness, shaking his head and patting the stallion's nose. Victoria had walked up beside Fuego at that point, lifting Paulo up into the space left on the saddle. When she grinned over her shoulder at Diego, he asked her seriously, "Can you lead him?"

She arched her brows at him with a mock glare. "I have been _riding_ him since Paulo was born. He is _my_ horse now," she informed him, dead serious.

There it was. His own brows flared, and he gave her his old, wide-eyed "innocent" look, then held out Fuego's reins to her. "Doña Victoria," was all he said, graciousness itself.

Marianna was next door, having slipped Tino in his sling back over her head and shoulder, lifting one of the Cordoba children to Balada's saddle. "And Balada is _mine_," she said airily over her shoulder. "And you _cannot_ have her back."

"I wouldn't dream of it, Doña Marianna." he replied seriously

"_I_ have a pony too, Papa!" Paulo piped up proudly from Fuego's back, then his face instantly fell as he remembered. "At least, I _used_ to."

"We had to leave him behind in the pueblo," Victoria explained. "He couldn't keep up."

"Well, we will do our very best to find him again," Diego promised his son, whose face lit up like the sun. Diego caught his breath sharply at the sight, then slowly smiled back.

Then he turned and led the way down the tunnel.


	43. Chapter 43

_**Chapter Forty-Three**_

Stopping just short of the entrance, Diego checked behind him to make sure they were all there. Jaime had handed Drummer's reins to Anita Cordoba, telling Diego that he and Miguel would bring up the rear with their rifles. Diego quietly opened the door and concealing bush, standing for a long, long moment just inside, making as sure as he could that the arroyo was unobserved, then led them cautiously out. They progressed silently down the arroyo, one by one, and followed him through the several turns, until they were close, Victoria knew, to the stand of pines. She could see their shadows ahead in the bright starlight – the waxing moon had set a short time before.

Diego shared a quick birdsong signal with some unseen sentry, then a pair of passwords Victoria didn't catch, then led them in under the trees and into a clearing. As they stepped past the trees, a familiar bark sounded from across the clearing, and Chico came tearing across, whimpering and favoring one paw, wriggling around his mistress as if to break his own back. She dropped Balada's reins and then swiftly knelt, suffering his kisses, then glanced up again as Anita gasped out a name, Sofia, surged to her feet and both of them ran to the group of women and children standing there beside a couple of wagons – the families of Felipe's company, Victoria realized. A minute later, Marianna turned and waved her over, and she was introduced around as Don Diego's wife, only really holding onto a few of the names.

The women then turned back to Marianna with a gasp, to tell her what had happened a short time before. "Your husband, the Capitán," Sofia said urgently, "he got his memories back!" In swift, terse sentences, helped by interjections from one or two others, she described the scene at the pueblo of Marenga, where Felipe's family had been massacred so many years before, setting up the entire long chain of events leading to that day. "And then he stood and called out their names, his family – eighteen of them!" "And then took out his knife, cut his palm, and made a blood vow, to always protect his people!"

They had heard his whole story later that evening when they camped, and he told Diego about his entire extended family coming from Italy to make a new life, and being innocently caught up in the massacre. "The next morning," one woman holding a baby on her shoulder added, "he apologized to all of us women – for jumping down our throats whenever our babies cried!" They had told of his infant cousin, only six months old, the last to be shot point-blank with a pistol. "Now we know why," she ended.

Marianna was nodding, her eyes huge, understanding shining through them. "Now we know why." Suddenly her expression changed to a wry look, and she took her own baby Tino off her shoulder and held him up to look into his innocent face. "So be a good baby, and don't cry."

The women tittered, and the same one replied again. "Oh, he's much better about it now. In fact, he's been holding my Juana on the way here – for practice, he said."

Marianna stared, then snorted, then began to laugh aloud. "Now _that_ is Felipe, through and through. Practice!" Then she sobered, turning to Victoria. "That explains the uniform, too. He can't be a partisan any more; the army is the only way he can continue to protect others." Victoria solemnly nodded back. She wasn't quite sure about anything any more; she'd been tossed into such strange seas ever since the morning. But she couldn't come up with any counter-argument, that was certain.

Diego's sharp whisper cut through the group then, silencing them. "_Alarm! Someone's coming down the path!"_

"Children, into the wagon!" Sofia hissed at the little ones who had gathered around. Without a fuss, they obeyed, silently swarming or being lifted over the tailgate of the nearest one. "Doña Victoria, you too!" Sofia added with a nod. Victoria lifted little Paulo up and over, then paused. Marianna had handed Tino off to a preteen girl sitting in the wagon, then swiveled around, pulling her rifle off her shoulder and joining the other women, all similarly armed, forming a fierce protective line between the wagon and whoever was coming. Victoria made an instant decision, pulled her own rifle around, and squeezed in beside Marianna. Her sister glanced at her with a quick, welcoming smile, then faced forward again. Victoria did so also, and found she was holding her breath. _What have I gotten myself into?_

Don Alejandro must have been thinking the same thing, for he made some sort of protest, but Diego swiveled around again to hiss him silent. "Father! It's what they are trained to do!" Sweeping the line with his eyes, he stopped short at the sight of his wife among them, blinked, then turned back around, his expression unreadable. Victoria saw that Jaime and Miguel were both near Diego, hiding behind trees, guarding the path with him.

Another exchange of bird calls and passwords, and Diego shot the "Stand down, it's the Capitán," over his shoulder. As the line of women relaxed, lowering their rifles, Victoria slung hers again with a shaky sigh. The shadows detaching from the trees and into the clearing resolved then into the soldiers who had so recently dashed silently through the tunnel, the uniformed Felipe at their head.

"It's over," he announced quietly, just loud enough for all to hear. "No survivors on their side, no casualties on ours." Victoria shivered a little at that casual pronouncement.

Don Alejandro stepped forward from the place he had taken at the end of the defender's line. "Did you find them?" he asked quietly.

Felipe looked solemnly at him and nodded, not needing to ask who. Victoria realized Father must have told him about the screaming women when she wasn't paying attention. "We wrapped them in blankets and laid them in the back room." Stepping forward, he placed a hand on Father's shoulder. "Do _not_ go and look, please. Not even to identify them. They were... very badly treated."

Don Alejandro nodded, even as his face crumpled once more. "I should have _done_ something. It was my house!" but Felipe was shaking his head fiercely at that.

"And if you had, you would be dead now, and so would the rest of you," he said flatly, echoing what Jaime had said so long before.

"I still – "

Felipe rode over him. "Then take care of their families, when we find out who they were."

Don Alejandro stared at him for a moment with tortured eyes, then slowly nodded. Glancing around, he noticed – as did Victoria – the other men had all gone to collect their horses from under the trees, and were already mounting and riding back down the path towards the hacienda, the old Teniente at their head. "What do you do now?" he asked the Capitán.

"We're taking the fight into the pueblo, taking these bodies with us, finding the rest of the invaders and... taking care of the problem," he replied with a satisfied nod. Then a wolfish smile appeared. "And then, I thought we'd present the bodies to the Alcalde. Sort of an... early Christmas present."

Don Alejandro raised his head. "Now that I would like to see," he commented.

The smile broadened. "I thought you might. I'll send someone out to bring you all in to watch," he said a bit louder, glancing around at the women, too. "It will be before dawn, so get some sleep while you can." He glanced around behind, spying Jaime. "Come with us, amigo, as a guide?" Jaime nodded at once, proudly, then asked Miguel to help him get the load off his Drummer.

As Felipe swung back around, Don Alejandro nodded to him, then his look turned a little misty. He placed his hand atop Felipe's, still on his shoulder. "It's good to see you, son. And hear your voice..." he added, a little impishly.

Felipe suddenly had tears in his eyes, and Victoria, startled, saw the young, innocent teen he once had been underneath the beard and uniform. "Well, this voice," he replied, so softly that Victoria, a few feet away, had to strain to hear, "has been waiting many years to say this. I love you, Father." With that, the two men embraced, pulling each other sharply into a long, hard hug.

A moment later, Felipe stepped away from Father, looked around and found himself facing his wife, standing with her arms crossed few feet away, a slightly dour, expectant expression on her face as she raked his uniform down and up.

"Um," he said, and had the grace to look abashed. Swallowing hard, he took the three steps over to stand before her. Victoria's curiosity got the better of her, and so she stood and watched from beside the wagon, listening.

"If you want me to leave the army, I will," Felipe said, his voice soft. Victoria would come to find out he _always_ spoke that way, hating to shout. "All I ask is that we give it a try. Give me six months – let me clean things up. Then... we'll talk."

Marianna's mouth turned up in a smile, and she shook her head slightly. "You cannot be anything other than what you are, love." She closed the gap between them and took his face in her two hands, pulling it down for a kiss. "Just don't send me away again," she added softly, pleading.

"Never." His voice was husky with emotion now. "I'm sorry, Anna. That was the worst mistake I ever made. I cannot live without you." He leaned over to put his forehead against hers, their eyes closing. Victoria could see how closely he was holding his wife, as if drawing strength from her slight frame. She couldn't help but glance over at her own husband across the clearing, helping to stack supplies from a wagon. She longed to be in his arms like that, but he hadn't carved out the time to be with her as his brother had. Not wanting to eavesdrop any more, she turned back to the wagon, at last picking Paulo up and lifting him down, then accepted a pair of thick, warm blankets from one of the women.

"We're sleeping out here tonight," she told her son. "Help me pick out a spot." And taking his hand, she let him lead her back across the clearing to a large pine with a thick cushion of needles beneath. They spread one of the blankets out, then lay upon it, flipping the other one out across them both. "I know you're excited, but we are getting up again before dawn. Don't worry, these children aren't leaving. You'll have lots of time to play with them tomorrow – and after." Even with his excitement, however, the long, fraught, momentous day was catching up to Paulo swiftly – he was already yawning. Within minutes, he was fast asleep.

Victoria looked up again at the couple she loved so well as Felipe stepped away from Marianna, whistling softly for his horse. As a black stallion, untethered, walked over to him, Victoria was startled all over again for some reason to recognize Toronado. _Diablo,_ she reminded herself of his new name. Felipe swung easily up, then had to ride over to a tree, exasperated, to coax a small hawk sleeping on a branch onto his fist, then shoulder, and the boy was again gone, melting swiftly into Capitán Halcón before her eyes. In a sudden whirl of motion, he sent a last smoldering look at Marianna, then he wheeled Diablo around, shared a nod and half-salute with Diego – in charge of the camp – collected a now-mounted Jaime with another glance, and was gone.


	44. Chapter 44

_**Chapter Forty-Four**_

Victoria had hoped to stay up and talk with Diego, but as she curled up beside Paulo between their borrowed blankets for warmth, the long eventful day overcame her, too, and she yawned mightily. She was barely aware a few minutes later of Diego coming to sit beside them, then, exchanging a few quiet words with Father behind her, he pulled out a silver sword from the bundle he had set down, and began polishing it. She reached out to rest a hand on his thigh, needing the contact, and he glanced down with love in his eyes, placing his own hand atop hers. Before he pulled it away again, she was asleep.

He woke her up, calling softly, when Jaime and two others rode back into the clearing several hours later. She rolled over and looked up into his face, catching her breath at the sight. "I was afraid I had been dreaming," she said, reaching out to touch him, making sure he wasn't a figment of her imagination.

Taking her hand and kissing it, he drew her up and off the ground, then wrapped the still-sleeping Paulo up in the blanket and carried him to a wagon, handing him to her as she climbed in and sat in the bed next to several other sleepy women and children. The horses had apparently been left hitched in place all night, because they pulled out of camp just a few minutes later, leaving all their supplies hidden in the brush.

More quietly than she would have believed possible – she learned later of the bits of cloth wrapped through jingling traces and leather shoes to silence horses' feet – they rolled into the pueblo and wended to the alley beside the cantina. There, Diego and the other men helped everyone out of the two wagons and through the door into the patio. A single lantern had been lit there, enough to show her upturned tables and chairs, but not enough to see the bloodstains she knew must be there. She followed Diego, who was carrying Paulo again, through the back door of the cantina, watching as he laid the boy gently down in the back corner along with the rest of the sleeping children.

Movement to her left brought her sharply around, and she saw, to her relief, Teniente Vargas rising from Don Alejandro's table. "Teniente! Are you all right?" she asked quickly, seeing his pale face and bloody sleeve, registering the lack of insignia on his uniform a moment later. Apparently, the teniente must have risen from his sick bed to argue against cowering behind the garrison walls while the outlaws had the run of the pueblo, and de Soto had canned him as roughly as he had Jaime all those years before.

Marianna, carrying Tino and followed dutifully by Chico, had disappeared into the office, where Vargas told her the Capitán was lying down on Jaime's cot. He looked after her with a strange expression, then Victoria saw the light dawn. "Not a widow, then?" he asked Jaime, who grinned, and explained her alias, and who her husband – living – actually was.

Vargas turned back to Victoria and nodded. "I'll survive. I was riding for help," he explained to her and Diego, after having been introduced to the latter, and added a feral smile. "I found it."

Diego snorted. "Another recruit for the Capitán?" Jaime and Vargas both nodded, Jaime adding a broad grin.

Victoria looked around then, catching her breath sharply as she spied the bloodstain on the floor before the bar – just where she had last seen Orlando, where they had left him. Jaime followed her glance, and touched her arm. When she looked at him, her face tragic, he nodded. "He was still there," he said softly. "They hadn't touched him. We put him in one of the back rooms – bottom left."

"Who?" Diego asked, and Jaime, with another glance at her face, answered levelly.

"Don Orlando Valero. He had been shot in the invasion, and stayed behind to cover us as we escaped." Diego goggled at that, glancing between Victoria, who couldn't meet his eyes – not just then, not about Orlando – and Don Alejandro, who nodded grimly and confirmed the story.

Victoria couldn't stand still. She looked wildly around her, distraught at the awful state her beloved cantina her been left in – and the kitchen, she discovered, was even worse. One of the company's women quietly took charge then, telling her they would clean it up, and pushing her gently back to Don Alejandro's table to sit down, before swiftly and efficiently dividing up the work among the others.

Now Victoria, Diego, Don Alejandro, Vargas, and Jaime all sat around the elder's table, and they told Diego a bit of what had been going on, why they were living in the cantina now, and what had happened to the ranch. He seemed upset, but accepted it all – nothing he could do about it, anyway, but move forward.

Then Don Alejandro asked what was going on _now_, and Jaime and Vargas grinned broadly at each other before finally sharing the joke. Each of the de la Vegas peeked out through the front window, carefully letting no light show through the curtain. The bodies of all the outlaws had been laid out in a long row between the fountain and the garrison doors. Victoria blinked; it was a _very_ long line. She didn't try to count them. Jaime described the eerie scene Felipe had concocted for carrying them out, scaring the two hapless lancers on sentry duty out of their wits by aping ghosts and shadows, with the help of white ashes or black coal dust on their faces.

A short time later, the office door opened, admitting Marianna, carrying Tino, and Felipe back into the public room. The Capitán issued swift, quiet orders to Vargas and Jaime to be alert and retake command of the lancers when they appeared. "The last thing I want is a gun battle in the plaza with innocent civilians all around, especially against men I hope to be leading in a few hours," he commented. Victoria had been trying to get used to successive surprises, but this caught her up short again. She swallowed her questions, however, as he turned to go.

Diego called him back, formally, and as Felipe faced him, Diego shocked and surprised everyone by pulling out the sword he had been polishing as she fell asleep, and presenting it to his adopted brother. Even Felipe took an involuntary step back. "Zorro's sword?" he breathed to Diego, shocked into staring.

"I'll never wear it again," Diego replied quietly, adding that it didn't deserve to be left hanging on a wall, but to be worn by someone who knew how to use it, to dispense justice.

"_Justice?_" Felipe echoed sharply, adding cryptically, "You know what I'm planning to do out there."

"What I can't, because for me it would be murder, and vengeance. But for you, the duly-appointed garrison commander, it _is_ justice." Victoria blinked, watching her husband, while everyone else stared at Felipe. She didn't know what to think about this startling change in him. After all those years as Zorro, after everything else he – and she – had been through, was he actually passing the torch on to his brother?

Just then, the church bells across the plaza began to clang, making everyone standing in the cantina jump. "Father Patricio has seen the bodies, and thinks everyone else should come see them, too," Marianna guessed.

There was no more time to argue then, and Felipe accepted the gift, first unbuckling his own sword from his belt – and handing it off to a young boy standing there, watching along with his mother. Victoria recognized him as Juan Diego, who had been crouched in the wagon, "in charge" of the youngsters during the brief alarm in the pines. Then Felipe buckled on the sheath holding Zorro's sword, then slowly drew out the magnificent silver sword, giving it an experimental, reverent arabesque before bringing it slowly upright before his own face, saluting Diego – his brother, foster father, and sword master – the ancient swordsman's salute. Diego solemnly saluted him back, military style, and Felipe suddenly snickered as he resheathed the sword. "Told you I'd get a salute from you," he said snarkily.

Diego managed to rib him back, something about his uniform hat, which Felipe apparently detested, then the young Capitán swirled out the back door, his remaining men in his wake, off to the cantina's storehouse a few blocks away, where he had sent the bulk of his company to wait.

All the air seemed to get sucked out with him, then slowly, each person glanced around, and silently picked up whatever they had been doing before. Marianna joined Don Alejandro, alone now, at his table, and the woman in charge brought them each a cup of coffee.

Victoria gazed at Diego, standing alone in the center of the public room. His face was drained of color as he stared at the now-closed door, and he looked as gaunt and exhausted as he had back in the cavern. He was not as high-mindedly unaffected by what he had just done as he wanted others to believe, she knew.

She stepped over to him, peering up into his beloved face, then put her arms around his waist and tucked her head into his neck, unconsciously recreating the same pose he had so lovingly described in his letter to her, that she dreamed about every night. She felt his arms come around her and hold her, so tightly, and her heart ached with both grief and joy.

After a long, long moment, she pulled back slightly. "Diego, come sit with me," she whispered, nudging him to a bench by itself along the back wall. Together they sat, side by side, their arms still around one another, and he sighed. She realized they had many very heavy things to talk about, but that moment was not the right one, so she searched her brain for something a little lighter.

"So," she finally said, smiling slightly up at him, "what's next? What are you going to do now?"

"That," he sighed, "is a very good question." He shook his head. "I don't really know."

"I understand from Marianna that you have been doing a whole _lot_ of different things this past year. Farmer... Builder... Alcalde," she added slyly, and he snorted softly, with a rueful grin.

"Yes, that's true." He was silent for a moment. "I had rather thought I would be returning to ranching, but that's..." his voice drifted off, and he shook his head.

"Not necessarily," she said evenly. "You can still be a rancher."

He shot her a confused look. "Not much left of the Rancho de la Vega," he commented mildly.

"Not that, no. But there is the Rancho Valero," she replied.

"Don Orlando's ranch?" His eyebrows had shot up to his hairline. "What about Doña Pacia?" When she told him Pacia had died several years before, childless to the end, he sat silently for a moment, absorbing that, then shot her another confused look. "But we can't afford to purchase that land."

She shook her head. "We don't have to. Your son owns it now." He goggled again, and she hurried quietly to explain. "Don Orlando and Doña Pacia were his godparents. And Orlando wrote a will naming Paulo his sole heir. So now he owns the ranch – or will, when the legal dust settles." She glanced the other way at the pile of children still sound asleep in the corner, Paulo's curly head among them. "But I think he's a bit too young still to run it himself," she went on, just a bit saucy. "He's going to need someone to manage it until he comes of age." She turned completely serious then, making the offer straight, wanting to know his true reaction. "Why not you?"

Diego took a deep breath and leaned his head back against the wall, thinking. His eyes, she saw, slowly traveled across the room, lighting at last on his father's face as he talked quietly with Marianna. Diego shook his head. "No," he said softly. "Father." He gave Victoria a wry smile. "He's a much better rancher than I ever was or could be – he's been doing it his entire life, after all. And it will give him something to sink his teeth into, which I think perhaps he needs?"

It was definitely a question, a stab in the dark, and she nodded thoughtfully. "He _has_ been floundering a bit since he lost the ranch," she admitted. "He _says_ he's been enjoying his retirement, but..." She nodded agreement to the plan, then looked back into his eyes. "But that leads us back to you. What will _you_ do?"

He sighed again, leaning back and giving it, she could tell, serious consideration. His thoughtfulness had always been one of the things she loved about him, and she hid a loving smile by leaning her head against his shoulder while he thought. After a while, he replied slowly, "One of the things I realized this past year, while I was doing all those other things, is how much I enjoyed it. I don't mean the actual labor," he added quickly, waving his free hand, "although I didn't _mind_ all that, it's not what I mean. I mean that I very much enjoy simply _being involved_ with the community. I like..." he struggled a moment, "...helping to solve problems, making things, making my friends' lives a little easier – even if it is just by making a bench for them to sit on while they eat," he ended a little self-deprecatingly, rapping his knuckles very lightly on the bench they sat on. He chewed his lips a moment, then turned to her. "I'd like to continue that."

"You were involved before," she started to say, confused, but he shook his head.

"Not really. Before, I spent most of my time out on the ranch, working – or buried in my books and letters. Even as Zorro," even now, he dropped his voice to the merest whisper on the name, "I only ever … dipped in and out. I never stayed to help raise the barn. I couldn't. And I'd very much like to."

"And it seems to me," he went on, a note coming into his voice that she realized a beat later was facetious, "that this cantina is perfectly situated to do exactly that, right in the middle of town and all. What do you think?" he asked her with a twinkle in his eyes, one she had been desperately missing for so long. "Do you think the owner might hire me on as cantiñero?"

"Hmmm," she replied with a slight smile of her own. "She might," she said with an air of making an admission, then speared him with a glance. "But you'll probably have to sweet-talk her into it."

"Oooh," was his appreciative reply. "Challenge accepted!" And with that, he leaned over and began kissing her, pulling her in tightly to his chest with the one arm. Familiar jolts of electricity went sizzling down her spine, as she raised her free hand and wrapped it around his neck, melting into his embrace. A long, long, moment later, and she was the one to pull back.

"Keep that up, and I'll be dragging you up those stairs," she whispered, fire in her eyes.

An answering fire was in his. "I think it's debatable, who will be dragging who," he rumbled, his voice low enough for her to feel it in her belly.

Before either of them could make good on the "threat," however, Sofia called from the front window, where she had been keeping careful watch, "The Capitán is riding in!"

They drew apart regretfully, their eyes making a promise for later, then stood and joined the others as they quietly filed out onto the porch, to watch the final act.


	45. Chapter 45

_**Chapter Forty-Five**_

Along with all the others who had been waiting quietly inside the cantina, Victoria filed through the front door and stepped to the edge of the porch beside Marianna, her stomach suddenly in knots. She gazed around the edge of Los Angeles' plaza in shock, seeing the wreckage from the day before: smashed wooden stalls, windows, produce, pots, unrecognizable bits of trash, and some dark stains she didn't want to think about. Even as she looked, the perimeter continued to fill with a growing ring of silent, watching citizens. Across the middle of the plaza lay a long line of dead bodies, side by side – the corpses of the outlaw soldiers who had invaded the town the day before. The skies, she noted, were grey and overcast, the newly-rising sun had not yet burned it off. It was a fitting reflection of the somber mood of the pueblo.

Strong arms suddenly snaked around her middle, and Diego was there behind her, holding her close against his chest. She sagged back against him, trying to breathe, and held on to his forearms with both hands for strength. She had been knocked and buffeted this way and that so many times the previous twenty-four hours that she wondered fleetingly how she was able to stay upright. Would she ever feel safe and secure again?

Her eyes were drawn inevitably to a half-familiar sight: the black stallion now called Diablo rearing, pawing the air and whinnying a challenge in the middle of the plaza, just before the line of corpses. But now a different rider was sitting nonchalantly on his back, while the long line of sharply-dressed soldiers were sitting their own line of mounts impassively behind him.

Then her attention was drawn to the other side of the plaza, beyond the corpses, where with a clatter and many shouts, the garrison of lancers were spilling out through the now-opened gate and trying to assemble into their double line. Before them stood Alcalde de Soto – and Victoria's stomach clenched again at the sight of her old enemy.

_How dare he?_ she thought, the old fury flooding through her bones, her jaw clenching so tight she thought her teeth might crack. _How dare he stand there like he owns the entire pueblo – if he ever did, he gave it away just yesterday! After everything he's done –_ she had to wrench her thoughts away and pay attention.

De Soto was yelling orders for the lancers to aim and fire their rifles, orders that were not going over very well. Even from that distance, Victoria could see the bewildered expressions on some of the lancer's faces – including, especially, Sergeant Rojas, out of his depth as always. Why were they being ordered to fire upon _soldiers?_ Glancing quickly that way, she saw that Felipe's men were all holding their own long guns at the ready, across their chests, but none were aimed at the lancers. As Diablo's forefeet touched the ground again, and he stood still, quivering, the Capitán merely sat and watched, his face as impassive as his men's.

A flurry of motion from the garrison dragged her attention that way again, and she saw Teniente Vargas run from the shadows to plant himself in front of the lancers, countermanding the Alcalde and ordering them to stand down – just as Felipe had told him to do earlier. Even Rojas' jaw dropped, and he looked back and forth between his two commanding officers for a moment – when suddenly someone shouted, "Si, Teniente!", and a ripple of obedience washed through the ranks, grounding the rifles by their feet and coming to stiff attention, even the Sergeant.

Victoria heard Marianna laugh, and glanced at her in astonishment. "Jaime!" was all her sister said, but it made Victoria blink, realizing a beat later that she was right: it had been their old friend who had made that complying shout.

With a little half-snort, she turned back in time to see Vargas pivot on his heel and come to attention, very obviously ignoring de Soto. The Alcalde sent him a last glare that should have melted paint, then, visibly disgusted, simply turned around himself to yell across at the newcomers. Victoria didn't really hear the next few exchanges; she was staring at de Soto. She hadn't actually seen him up close in several weeks; the times they'd passed close she had looked the other way. Now she wondered at his decline. The man was disheveled, his white hair long and greasy, his once-pristine uniform no longer starched and pressed – and she could swear she saw a food stain on the front. But his eyes were what drew her attention most sharply; even from that distance they were wild and feral. _He's unhinged,_ she thought. _Loco. He might do anything._ A shaft of pity mixed with fear for the pueblo lanced through her heart.

Diego had been watching his adopted brother on his old stallion. Now he leaned over to whisper in her ear, "Was I that dashing on that horse?"

She had to smile. Leaning her head back, she told him, "No. You were even more dashing."

Unexpectedly, his eyes clouded with pain. "I'm sorry," he began, but she reached up to silence him with a finger on his mouth.

"You're my husband," she said simply. "I'll never have another."

Before he could think of a reply, their eyes were wrenched back to the action again. Felipe had pulled Diablo around in a rearing pivot to address the crowd of civilians around the edge of the plaza. In quick succession, he identified himself as Don Alejandro's adopted son, gave his rank in the Army of Mexico, and announced that the war was over and Mexico was independent. The crowd, of course, cheered at that unexpected news, and he gave an earsplitting whistle to quiet them down again before pulling a folded paper from his jacket – his official orders – and formally taking command of the pueblo's garrison.

Victoria felt Diego heave a sigh. "That's done," he breathed. "It's official."

De Soto obviously wasn't having his command whisked away so unceremoniously, however: yanking his sword free of its scabbard, he launched himself across the line of bodies. Even as several women screamed and men shouted, Felipe reacted, pulling Diablo around again before somersaulting athletically over his withers to land on his feet. As de Soto, knocked aside momentarily by the horse's hooves, charged him again, he calmly stepped to one side, grabbed his assailant's sword arm, and threw him across the plaza towards the cantina and onto the cobblestones, behind his own line of horsemen. Victoria vaguely registered the two tenientes shouting for their respective men to hold still and not interfere. This was to be a fight only between the Alcalde and the Capitán.

Sudden silence filled the plaza as de Soto began to push himself back up, realizing (at the same moment as everyone else) that his opponent's sword point was inches from his face. Felipe let him climb to his feet, raising his sword at the same time, and the two men squared off, ending up sideways to the watchers on the porch. Victoria couldn't hear what either man said over her own blood pounding in her ears. She tried to read Felipe's face, but between his profile and his full beard, all she could see was his icy stare. His outstretched arm, holding Zorro's sword level and absolutely steady, its point mere inches from de Soto's eyes, told its own story of hatred, however, and she remembered all that Marianna had said about his long, painful past, as well as the massacre told of by the company's women the night before. Was he about to take it all out on de Soto?

The other man's face was easier to read: sneering disdain and bravado alternating with flickering fear, making her gut clench over and over. At one point his head jerked around towards them, his eyes unerringly finding Diego behind her shoulder. His face turned purple with outrage, and he almost made to charge in their direction before Felipe flicked the sword again, bringing his attention back. Victoria, gasping in fear for her newly-returned husband, had seen his death in the Alcalde's eyes, and wished she could hear all that was being said.

Then Felipe flexed his wrist and arm, bringing the sword back a few inches with a final word. De Soto's face purpled again, and he brought his own sword, hanging limply from his right hand all this time, up in a flash to clang against the younger man's, and the swordfight was on.

De Soto immediately began forcing Felipe back, as several on the porch gasped in horror, but Diego said calmly, "It's all right. He's better than I was."

"He's forcing him back!" Don Alejandro said in fear.

"He's taking his measure," Diego replied, calm and collected. No one had any doubt who his "he" was. "And he knows what I know. De Soto is nothing. He has him."

Victoria clutched at Diego's arms even harder as without warning, the fight changed, and Felipe began driving de Soto back in turn, beating his sword aside ever harder and faster. And then he flicked the sword of Zorro in past his opponent's defense, scoring a deep gash on his upper arm and drawing blood. In some genteel Old World contests, that would have ended it, but there was no doubt now that this was a fight to the death. The Capitán continued driving de Soto around the plaza, scoring and drawing blood every few seconds, and he began shouting after each score, laying charges to justify each wound.

"For everyone you have _ruined_ these ten years! For everyone you have _killed! _For every bit of land you _stole_! For every peso that went into _your_ pocket! For every orphan crying in the night because his father will never come home! For every widow forced to sell herself to feed her children!" The crowd was with him now, growling assent to every charge. Tears were streaming down Victoria's face as she watched the spectacle, her hands now covering her mouth to keep cries from successive waves of terrible emotion from escaping. She could not have said, even if she had been able to stop a moment and think, precisely what those emotions were, or even if they were good or bad. They were only impossibly strong.

Inevitably, the end came. The Capitán had paused his attack, gauging de Soto's condition. The other man gathered himself up in a sudden fury, ignoring his many wounds, and raised his sword again, preparing to lunge for his hated enemy's heart. Instead, Felipe unexpectedly whirled completely around on one foot and kicked the sword away with the other. In a move too fast for any of the watchers to see, he completed his turn by plunging his dagger – suddenly there in his other hand – directly into de Soto's own black heart. Time itself seemed to pause for a moment, and everyone heard the Capitán softly pronounce, "I hereby sentence you to death," before he pulled the dagger back out and stepped back, leaving the former Alcalde staring in shock at the blood now streaming faster and faster down his chest. Victoria glimpsed a look of icy black fury on Felipe's face before he spun around once more and brought his heel sharply against the former Alcalde's temple with a dull crack that resounded from one side of the plaza to the other. In the ringing silence, de Soto crumpled like a rag doll to the cobblestones and died.

The silence reigned for another moment, then all hell broke loose, as nearly every voice was raised in cheers and joyful yells, celebrating the end of their hated oppressor.

Nearly.

Victoria stood as still as a statue, staring down the dozen yards to her former enemy. She had three more charges to lay at his feet. "For a town full of ruined hopes and dreams," she whispered, too softly for anyone else to hear. "For all the pain and terror you have done to my family. And for a ranch full of dumb, innocent animals, starved and thirsted and shot to death." She felt suddenly drained of all energy and emotion.

She continued staring at de Soto's crumpled body, mesmerized, until unexpectedly she heard Diego's purposely mild voice in her ear. "Excuse me," was all he said, but he squeezed her middle quickly before dropping his arms, turning, and walking stiffly in through the cantina door. She whirled around and almost called after him, but too late, and her voice died in her throat.

Marianna had turned swiftly as well to watch him go, holding her infant son on one shoulder. As the cheering continued from all sides, the two sisters stared at each other in bewilderment. What was wrong with him?

Then Marianna's face softened, and she reached out to take Victoria's hand. "Everything is going to be different now," she said kindly, then gave a tiny, rueful shrug. "But then, it always is."


	46. Chapter 46

_**Chapter Forty-Six**_

A gunshot ringing out above the noise of the cheering crowd and instantly silencing them brought Victoria and Marianna whirling around again with a gasp, to see Teniente Costa's pistol aimed at the sky. The Capitán had remounted Diablo, and now held one hand up for attention.

"Amigos! I understand your joy, and soon I will share it, but not just yet! We have a damaged town, many wounded people, but most important, we have several who have died. I beg you, do not celebrate over their corpses!" The chastened populace was suddenly solemn, and Felipe went on in the pregnant silence. "Amigos, we have been _badly_ mauled these last two days..." His voice suddenly cracking, he added in a low but carrying speech, "And I would give nearly _anything_ to have been here two days ago, and prevented all this. I am _so sorry_ that I am late." In the pause that followed, a low murmur swelled around the edge of the plaza, but it was not menacing. If anything, it promised forgiveness.

He swallowed and went on. "But our task now is to pick up, and move on. We have a lot to do. My soldiers will clean up this mess," he pointed over his shoulder with a thumb at the line of bodies, "but for the rest of the plaza, the rest of the town, we need your help. So for today, please, begin cleaning up, begin repairing. Bring any wounded to the doctor – do we have a doctor now?" he added suddenly, and a voice from the other side of the plaza called out Yes. Felipe nodded thanks. "Bring the wounded to the doctor, and bring the dead – our dead – to the church, so they may be laid to rest with honor."

"And then, before sunset," he went on, his increasing volume reflecting his lightening mood, "put on your best clothes, grab your family and neighbors, and come back! Reopen the market, if you have goods left to sell. Bring food, bring drinks, bring music and dancing!" He was yelling now. "And we will have a grand fiesta, to celebrate _our new independence!_"

The crowd erupted in cheers once more, but the mood had shifted. To Victoria it sounded determined, rather than wild, and she nodded, a bit of satisfaction threading through her confusion. He had hit exactly the right note. He passed some low order to his men, still mounted on their horses, and they began moving slowly forward, to encourage anyone not actively cleaning up the plaza back to their homes.

Marianna, still beside her, gave her hand a squeeze, and turned to go into the cantina without a word. Victoria continued to watch the Capitán as he swung down again from Diablo and turned towards the lancers, still standing nervously at attention behind Teniente Vargas.

"Doña Victoria?" It was Trinidad Costa, the woman who had taken charge of cleaning the cantina earlier. The other women from Felipe's company were clustered behind her. "I think we've done about all we can," Trinidad went on apologetically.

Victoria waved that away. "Thank you all, so much! It would have taken me days to get it all done!"

Trinidad smiled. "There's a big pile of sheets that need washing on the patio," she began again.

"I don't do the laundry," Victoria explained quickly, "I have a woman who does that. Or I did – I need to check on her," she added, making worried a mental note. Was Maria all right? She only lived a block off the plaza.

"And we found a pot of soaking beans," Trinidad went on. "They didn't look like they'd been touched, so I just changed the water and left them." That was really going beyond the call, and Victoria thanked her again warmly.

"The children are still sleeping inside," another woman – Sara, she remembered – put in. "Is it all right if they stay for a while? I'll stay and watch them." Of course it was, Victoria replied, and Sara smiled. Sofia was already edging off the porch, calling the rest to go and check out their new homes inside the garrison walls.

"Save one for me!" Sara called, but Sofia shot her a sour glance.

"I don't think we'll be handing them out ourselves," she shrugged. "We're just looking." And off they went in a loose group.

Don Alejandro quietly told her he was going to the church to help the mourners any way he could, and stepped off the porch. She watched him go, his shoulders uncharacteristically slumped, and worried for him; the invasion of his home and all the deaths, particularly the two women the day before, had dealt him a tremendous blow. Hopefully his current course, helping others through it, would help him in return. And all at once, she was standing still, all alone, trying to catch her breath and force her brain to work for the first time in twenty-four hours. So much had happened. She felt as splintered and scattered as the rubbish in the plaza. And not least of it was the sudden cold on her back, where minutes before, Diego had been standing, keeping her warm and upright. What was wrong with him? Why had he left?

She turned slowly and went inside to look for him. No sign of him anywhere in the main room. She was about to look in the back, when the closed office door caught her eye – hadn't Felipe left it open? She tiptoed over to it, turned the handle quietly, and pushed it open a few inches.

There he was, sitting before the desk, staring ahead with a tortured look on his face. She breathed in softly at the sight, and was about to push further in and ask what was wrong, when she glanced to the left and registered what he was staring at, sitting on the desk.

It was a bottle of whiskey.

_What in the world is going on?_ she thought. _Diego was never much of a drinker, other than a glass of wine._ She stood peeking through the door for another several breaths, then stepped back and silently eased it closed. _Whatever that is, I cannot handle it right now._ But she felt like a failure even thinking it. Wasn't she supposed to be his support, his helpmeet? She straightened her shoulders, not sure if she'd made the decision not to barge in, or was running like a coward. Either way, she couldn't make herself open the door again. _When he's ready, he'll come to me_, she told herself, wishing she was as confident as the thought sounded.

With that, she forced her mind to her cantina. What did she still need to do in order to open it later? The outlaws had apparently taken it over the day before, as she had feared they would, and left it an unholy mess. Although it had been cleaned well by the company women since their arrival before dawn; trash and mud and broken glass swept up and removed, surfaces wiped, tables and benches set upright, a few broken ones stacked by the back wall for repair. The shelves behind the bar were definitely running towards bare – even though she only carried local wine, whiskey, and beer, she usually had a lot of them to offer.

With a deep breath, she turned again and stepped over to the store room beneath the stairs, steeling herself to see what was left. When she tried the door, however, it was still locked. With a bit of trepidation she fished the key out of her pocket – thank goodness she'd not lost it! – and unlocked the door. When it was opened, however, she gasped involuntarily.

"Señora? What is it?" Sara came to see.

"Nothing!" That wasn't going to fly as an explanation. "There's nothing missing, or broken! They didn't break in here!" She was incredulous.

Sara joined her laughter. "They must have contented themselves with what they found behind the bar," she said.

"Unless they broke into the room upstairs," Victoria realized, the idea driving away her relief as she stepped towards the bottom of the stairs to go see.

"They did, but only took a few things," Marianna supplied. She was gliding carefully down the steps, Tino again on her shoulder, and had heard. "All the doors have been kicked in – they'll have to be repaired. And our beds were slept in – I took the sheets off for washing. But it doesn't look like anything else was touched. Even all our clothes seem perfectly fine." She had reached the bottom, and come to stand with the other two women.

"Well, that's a relief," Victoria replied. "They didn't actually do as much damage as I was afraid of, apparently." Marianna gave her a commiserating smile.

Then Victoria looked again at her sister-in-law, and her brows knitted. "What's with the fancy clothes?" For Marianna had changed out of the split skirt she'd been wearing since the day before, as expected, but had put on one of her finest dresses, a dark blue silk gown that hugged her figure and swept the floor, with intricate embroidery around the collar and cuffs. She had also brushed her hair and put it up (with a swiftness Victoria couldn't help but envy) into a sleek chignon at the back of her head. There was even a string of pearls around her neck – and Tino had been changed into a clean gown.

Marianna arched her eyebrows at the question. "Garrison commander's wife," she said simply. "I have an image to maintain now."

Apparently, Victoria realized, there was more to that role than she had ever imagined. She tried then to think of the last time there had been a woman in the position of Alcalde's wife, and couldn't think of one. The last three alcaldes, spanning well over two decades, had all been unmarried. Marianna would be breaking new ground, and apparently intended to do it right, to her late, patrician mother's expectations, if the pearls and dress were an indication. Glancing down, Victoria spied the old ivory fan tucked into Marianna's waistband and hid a smile. That powerful talisman would be put to good use.

Sara's eyes were as wide as Victoria's, but perhaps a bit more knowing. "Well, if anyone can pull it off, you can, Doña Marianna," she said with a smile, then took herself back to sit at a table near the tumble of sleeping children.

"I feel as though I have been training for this my entire life," Marianna confessed in a low voice to Victoria. Then her face scrunched up. "Oh, but I _do_ hate to leave you!" she cried.

Victoria had to laugh. "You're not leaving town, are you? You'll only be right across the plaza, living in the garrison – in the Alcalde's house," she added wryly. They shared the same thought, and Marianna sighed.

"Oh... _That_ house is going to take a _lot_ of work," she grumped. Neither had ever been inside, but judging from the latest inhabitant...

"The whole town is going to take a lot of work. Besides," Victoria brushed on impishly. "Since both our husbands are now home, we aren't going to be sharing a bedroom any more anyway."

Marianna slid an affronted look on her face, and propped her free fist on her hip. "I _knew_ it! You _are_ kicking me out!" Victoria burst out laughing, and Marianna joined her a moment later. Then she reached her free hand out and pulled Victoria in to a one-armed hug. "Ah, my sister. I will always be right here for you."

"So will I," Victoria replied.

Bootheels on the porch broke the moment, and the two women turned to see Felipe stride in through the door, a satisfied smile on his face. "There you are!" he said to his wife as he reached her, then added with a concerned look, "Are you all right?"

"I'm fine!" she protested, bewildered at the question, then her brows flared in amusement. "Victoria fusses almost as well as you do!" she teased.

"_Nah!_" he replied instantly, indignant. "_No_ one fusses as well as me!" The wink he gave Victoria afterwards put the lie to the expression, however. He startled her then by leaning over to kiss her cheek. Before she could react, he asked, looking around the cantina, "Where's Diego?"

"In the office," she said, exaggeratedly matter-of-fact, then added, "with a bottle of whiskey."

"_What?" _His astounded rejoinder soothed part of her concern; no, it wasn't normal. Then he shook his head, with a flat "no." Glancing that way, he reached out to take Tino off his mother's shoulder. "Come here, son. Let's go pull your uncle out of whatever funk he's gotten himself into." He settled the months-old infant into the crook of his left arm expertly, and Marianna grinned.

"I see your practice has paid off."

He shot her a puzzled look that turned rueful an instant later. "They told on me, did they?" She chuckled and nodded. He leaned over and kissed her cheek. "Keep an eye out for the wagon for me?" She nodded.

Without another word, Felipe turned towards the office, stopping by the bar to reach for a shot glass. Then he knocked on the door and pushed it open a gap, exchanging a few words with the occupant before going on in and closing the door behind him.

Marianna and Victoria shared a glance, and Victoria sighed. Then, changing the subject, "What wagon?"

"The one bringing the women from the hacienda to the church," was the explanation. Marianna stepped over to the front window and opened the coverings to watch the plaza, and Victoria joined her, wondering how the other woman had known, before putting it down to her obviously knowing her husband so well.

The plaza was still a hub of activity. Soldiers in pairs – one lancer and one of Felipe's men in each – were loading the dead men into a couple of wagons, while civilians were still cleaning up the remains of the market trash around the edges. Marianna asked what they were doing with the bodies; Victoria had the answer to that one.

"Putting them in my warehouse for now. Gino ran over to ask my permission. I think they're going to bury them tomorrow." Marianna nodded; that made sense.

Victoria was still wrestling with the strong urge to be _doing_ something, after all these years in the center of whatever was going on in the pueblo, but couldn't get herself to move. She still felt stuck between the whirlwind of the past day and the rock of her husband's return – and the distance between them she couldn't seem to explain, let alone bridge. So she stayed by the window, and watched, and waited. The wagons came and went several times, until all the bodies had been removed, then the soldiers began to disperse to different tasks.

At last, another wagon came trundling into the plaza, with just two soldiers – still one of each – atop the driver's bench, and a pair of long, blanket-wrapped bundles in the bed. Marianna walked swiftly over to the office door, but just as she reached to knock, it was opened from the inside by Felipe.

"The wagon's here," she said quietly, reaching for Tino. Felipe thanked her and handed the baby off, then started quickly towards the door. He stopped suddenly beside Victoria as a thought struck him. He made a couple of false starts, not wanting to give offense, reminding her of the unsure boy he had been, then managed to ask if Don Orlando were still in the room out back. She nodded reluctantly.

"Leave him for now. We'll come later to carry him across to the church, with a proper escort," he said, then nodded once and hit the door. He was running for the wagon, now stopping before the church, and whistling sharply for his men before he was off the porch. Marianna walked swiftly and smoothly behind him, once more carrying Tino; Chico trotting along at her heels, still limping slightly but determined not to let her out of his sight again. Apparently they also planned to spend time comforting the bereaved.

"Who's the new doctor?" came Diego's voice in her ear. He had come out of the office behind his brother and stopped by her.

She was startled and suddenly worried. "Are you hurt?"

He blinked, then smiled. "No, I'm going to introduce myself, and see if he needs another pair of hands today." Then he frowned, concerned in return. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing... It's just..." She puffed, then tried again. "When are we going to talk?"

He put an arm around her, smiling slightly again. "Later. There's plenty of time. I'm not leaving again. But I need to go help – that's the best thing I can do right now for the town. The doctor?"

Disappointed, Victoria gave him the name, Doctor Ramirez, and told him where to find his new office: across the plaza, behind the sutler's store. He squeezed her shoulders again in thanks, and walked out the door and started across.

She stared after him. "How many times have I seen _that_ before?" she asked his departing back.


	47. Chapter 47

_**Chapter Forty-Seven**_

After Diego disappeared across the plaza, Victoria forced herself to move away from the window. Some of the children were beginning to stir; the eldest one, a boy of perhaps ten – still clutching the sword the Capitán had given him at dawn – was sitting up and staring at it wide-eyed. "They're going to need breakfast," Victoria said to Sara – not really a question. "How are you at making tortillas?"

"As good as anyone," Sara laughed, and stood, putting away her stitching, then followed Victoria into the kitchen. Victoria pulled out the masa flour and equipment, before Sara waved her off and plunged in expertly. Victoria then found the pot of beans she had left to soak two nights before, with the changed water from Trinidad, changed it again, and set it on the stove to begin simmering, adding bits of ham and herbs. A pot of rice, which would be ready much faster, quickly joined it.

After a quick word of explanation to Sara, Victoria let herself out the patio door and walked the two blocks to Maria's house. Her washerwoman was fine, she reassured her; the outlaws hadn't made it to her house, and she'd stayed hidden inside until that morning. No, washing all the sheets from the cantina would be no problem, "although it may take me two or three days to get them all done."

"That's fine," Victoria replied, "just do them as you can. But I need your help with something else," she added, before taking a deep breath and asking Maria to come help her wash and prepare Don Orlando's body. "He didn't have any other family left," she reminded Maria. "We were his closest friends."

Maria assured her she would be there in a couple of hours, and Victoria returned to the cantina, stopping at the stables in back to check on their horses – the Andalusians were much too valuable to have been left in the woods, so they had been brought back behind the wagons and put away. She stopped, troubled, at Dancer's empty stall, breathing deeply. The pony was missing. When she went back inside, just in time to help Sara feed the children, she pulled Paulo aside to tell him, reminding the boy of his father's promise to find the pony.

The boy didn't stay crestfallen for long, as he was ecstatic at all his new friends, chattering away nonstop, then showing the older ones around "his" cantina. After helping Victoria clean up, Sara rounded them all up and took them across to the garrison to find their mothers; Paulo tagging along with his new best friend, Juan Diego, the boy with the sword. Victoria relieved him of it before he went, putting it away in the office until he had a good place for it.

As she turned around again, both Jaime and Don Alejandro were there, back from their forays in the plaza. As they ate breakfast – Victoria joining them at last – they told her what they had learned about the damage done the day before. Then Don Alejandro, claiming exhaustion after the long, eventful day and night, climbed the stairs to lay down for a bit, and Jaime began picking through the pile of broken furniture to see what needed to be done. Picking up a bench, he took it to Don Alejandro's table near the door, needing, he said, to rest his foot. She wondered briefly where his cane had gotten to; he hadn't really needed it for some time.

"Mama!" Paulo came running in again, Juan Diego and others still in tow, to throw his arms around her legs. His face was concerned. "Have you seen Gato?"

She shook her head. His cat must have disappeared the day before, frightened off by the band of outlaws, and was still missing. "He'll turn up again, hijo, as soon as he gets hungry. Don't worry."

A noise came from the front door, and Victoria turned, her hand still on Paulo's shoulders, to tell whoever it was they weren't open yet – but it was Capitán Felipe again. He walked up to Jaime with a smile, placing both hands on the shoulders of the man who had brought his wife a thousand miles to his father's home as the other stood to greet him; the de la Vegas, mother and son, watching quietly.

"Mi hermano," Felipe began, "I can _never _thank you enough for all you have done." He waited a beat, then his grin became wicked. "So I won't even try." Jaime laughed helplessly. "Instead, I'm going to ask you to do something else."

Jaime laughed again, shaking his head. "What is that, Capitán?"

"Come back into uniform," was the reply – possibly the last thing Jaime – or Victoria – would have thought of.

Jaime shook his head, mystified. "I cannot march – " he began, gesturing towards his mangled foot.

But Felipe was shaking his head. "No marching. No formations. No patrols. None of that. I have something very special for you. You would report only to me, and no one would report to you."

"And what would I be doing?" Jaime asked, very suspicious now.

"I need your help."

"With what?" he asked again.

Felipe took a breath, looking a little abashed now. He shook his head slightly. "I can't write. I can barely read – and that printed books. Someone's handwriting?" he asked, shaking his head in mock horror. "And as long as we were a... happy little band of partisans in the hills," he said with a smile, "it didn't matter. But now?" He glanced down at his own crisp uniform. "Regular army, in charge of a garrison? There is going to be a _mountain_ of things for me to read and write, isn't there? I don't even know what."

Jaime was chuckling now at his expense. "Regulations..." he intoned, a bit gleefully. "Reports... Requisitions... Rosters..."

"Stop! You're killing me!" Felipe cried. "I don't know what to do with all that!" Then he got crafty. "But _you _do." He paused. "Help me. Please," he begged. "Sargento Ayudante Mendoza," he said slowly, loving the syllables, offering Jaime his old rank back. He brushed his fingers on Jaime's shoulders as if dusting off insignia already there. "You can stay inside all day, out of the weather, off your feet. Over here, if you like; I don't care, as long as everything gets done" he added, waving a hand around the cantina. "Come and take care of this paperwork for me for a couple of years, and while you do, you can be teaching _me_ how to handle it. Marianna will still be teaching me to read and write," he said nonchalantly, and it struck Victoria how unashamed he was to admit his failing. She had a flash of memory then, of a mute teenager trying to win a job on a construction crew. _Nobody could turn him away any more now,_ she thought, _which might just be the whole point of his transformation. _

"And after a time, when I'm up to speed..." Felipe paused again, drawing it out. "You can retire, officially, as a sergeant. A career soldier. We'll just... ignore this little interruption. It never happened."

Victoria could see he had Jaime exactly where he wanted him. She'd always known how deeply the loss of his position in the Army at de Soto's hands had wounded him. She found she was holding her breath, waiting for his reaction.

After a moment, Jaime snorted ruefully. "Do you know how old I am?" he asked softly, but didn't wait. "I'm forty-four. Too late to start over." He sighed. "But at this late stage, I find to my horror..." He drew it out in turn, payback for the young Capitán. "... that I can refuse you... nothing." The two men shared a smile. "It would be my honor, Capitán."

Felipe shook his head deprecatingly. "The honor will be mine, Sargento." He started to reach to shake Jaime's hand, but the other man stiffened instead, and gave him a sharp, professional salute. Felipe chuckled, then wiped the smile off his face and returned the salute with a precision Victoria hadn't expected. _Then_ he grabbed Jaime's hand to shake it.

"We brought a pile of extra uniforms with us," he said. "We'll find you one tomorrow."

"I take it you would like me to start today?" Jaime asked shrewdly.

"If you wouldn't mind," Felipe laughed. "Perez is over at the garrison with the women. I need to know as soon as possible what it's going to take to get it into shape."

Jaime returned the laugh and nodded. "Si, Capitán." And with that, he walked out the door, his limp nearly forgotten in his pride.

Felipe smiled to himself in satisfaction, then turned to see Victoria and Paulo standing a little ways away. She put her hands on her hips and schooled her face into stern irritation.

"You just stole my bartender, right in front of me!" she accused.

His eyebrows flared, but he was utterly unrepentant. "I did, didn't I? In five minutes flat. But somehow," he added, stepping towards her, "I don't think you're going to have much of a problem finding his replacement." His smirk gave away the game.

She couldn't help but smile back. "As a matter of fact, I already have an application!"

Felipe laughed, then dropped his eyes to Paulo. "Now _this_ handsome young lad can't be anyone other than my nephew!" he cried, dropping down on one knee to say hello. The other garrison children, Victoria noticed, were still hanging silently around beyond them, a little in awe of their fathers' Capitán even after so much time around him.

"Paulo," she hurriedly made introductions, "this is your father's brother, your Tio Felipe."

Paulo's eyes were huge in a solemn face. He _had_ heard stories about the man before him, but... "You're a soldier," he accused. He hadn't had very many good interactions with men in uniform, Victoria reflected a little ruefully; and her own attitude had worn off on him.

Felipe glanced down at his uniform again, feigning shock. "I am, to my surprise! I haven't been one very long," he added, then leaned forward conspiratorially. "I still like to think of myself as one of the good guys, though."

"Oh, _definitely_ one of the good guys," put in Victoria approvingly.

"_Thank_ you," he said up from the floor seriously, then held out his right hand towards Paulo. "Will you shake my hand?" Paulo thought a moment, then nodded solemnly, stepped forward and did just that. Felipe smiled again, and sat back on his heel. "And now, I have something for you," he announced after a swift glance at the open double doors leading to the patio.

"Not another sword, I hope," Victoria said quickly.

He shot her an amused glance, then shook his head. "_Nooo_, something _much_ better. Although actually," he admitted, "it already belongs to you. We're just returning it."

"What?" Paulo asked, perplexed.

Felipe grinned, then pointed his chin at the doors behind them. "Look."

Mother and son both turned and gasped, then Paulo shouted, "_Dancer!_" and ran for the door. Gino was standing in the patio, holding the reins of his lost pony, a grin stretching his face from ear to ear.

"How did you – ?" Victoria whirled back on Felipe, who grinned again as he stood.

"He was wandering the streets last night; Jaime recognized him. We stashed him in the warehouse till now."

"Thank you," she said and meant it. She turned back to the patio. "Paulo, put Dancer away in the stables, and take care of him. Give him a good rubdown, and some oats," she directed.

"Juan Diego," Felipe added to the older boy. "Go with him." He nodded the same instructions to Gino, not needing to say it aloud.

"Si, Capitán!" said Juan Diego willingly, and the boys left, the other children crowding along behind.

"I _told_ you I had a pony!" Paulo's proud voice came piping back through the door.

Victoria laughed as she turned slowly back, shaking her head. "Silent little Felipe," she said, wondering at the transformation from boy to man. "The Capitán. I confess, this is all going to take some getting used to," she added, waving a vague finger at his uniform, but meaning the entire man he had become.

He understood. Leaning forward with a twinkle, he confided, "You should have been on _this_ side of things!"


	48. Chapter 48

_**Chapter Forty-Eight**_

"I have something for _you_ now!" Victoria cried, delighted at the prospect. Felipe crinkled his brows in smiling curiosity. "Close your eyes," she continued, "give me your hands, and come with me."

"Where are we going?" he asked suspiciously, not moving.

"Only out to the patio," she assured him. "Just a few feet."

Giving her a last skeptical gleam, he then cleared his face with a long-suffering expression, closed his eyes, and held out his hands. As she took them and began gently pulling him forward to the door, he said quietly, "Help! I'm being kidnapped by a beautiful woma– never mind."

She gasped, then laughed. "You!" she said in mock outrage as he laughed in delight at her response. She led him out, then stopped a few steps from the door. "There. Now tip your head back, and open your eyes."

His face showing plainly that he was humoring her, he did so – and then his jaw dropped as his eyes opened wide with astonishment, and growing wonder. "You did it! Oh, you did it! And it's just... beautiful!"

Above their heads stretched a rainbow – the canopy he had given her the design for all those years before, with Diego's help. Long, slender bolts of cloth in a dozen bright, solid colors were draped side-by-side from one end to the other, clipped together at intervals where they hung from the supporting wires strung between the buildings. Every color of the rainbow was there, gently rippling in the morning breeze – just as he'd described. The effect was mesmerizing, even under the cloudy skies.

"Oh, it's so beautiful," he breathed again, his face aglow. Her heart was nearly bursting with joy at his reaction.

"Is it like you imagined?" she asked softly.

At the question, a strange thing happened. First his brows came together, a look of confusion on his face as he searched for a memory, then his eyes slowly fell to the ground as a sad little smile claimed his mouth, a look nearly of pain on his face. She drew breath to apologize, but he held up a hand to stop her. After another moment, he swallowed hard, and managed to speak, his voice soft but cracking.

"Did you know that I got my memories back?" he asked unexpectedly.

She nodded. "The señoras told us last night." She gasped slightly, realizing. "You didn't just imagine it."

He gave a little head shake. "It was over the main deck – in good weather – of the ship that brought us across the ocean." He sniffed a little, looking away and into the past. "I had a cousin – well, I had a _handful_ of them," he began again. "But one of them was the same age as me. Just one week apart." He snorted softly, then leaned over conspiratorially. "She was older – and _very_ bossy."

Victoria smiled. "What was her name?"

"Nicoleta." She could hear his affection still, after all these years. "We were... Ah! I forget words sometimes." He struggled for a second. "You couldn't tear us apart?"

She thought for a moment, then came up with it. "Inseparable?"

"That's the one. Thank you. Inseparable. We even promised each other that we'd marry when we were old enough." He looked back up at the canopy overhead. "She used to lie on the deck for hours, just watching the canopy, completely fascinated. And she _instructed_ me," he said with serious emphasis, "that I _had_ to find out how it was made, because I _would_ be required to make one to go over the patio of the house we would someday have."

She laughed with him. "Well, you certainly did. Your design was perfect."

He smiled down at her for a moment; he had unexpectedly grown a bit these past years and was now a couple of inches taller than Victoria. "Thank you," he said quietly, his eyes suspiciously damp. "I know it was not your intention – you didn't know – but it feels like a... a fitting tribute."

Without warning, she was swamped again by the magnitude of the morning's events. "Thank _you_, Capitán," she replied seriously. He heard the title and snapped out of his gentle humor, his spine stiffening in an instant as he waited silently for her to go on. She drew a careful breath. "For what you did this morning." That wasn't clear enough. "For executing de Soto." The plain words felt jagged on her tongue. She glanced around for a moment, searching for the words to explain. "He was... pure evil. The things he had done... not just taking Diego, but so many other things."

"I know," he interjected. "I've heard from many people what he had done."

"He needed to be gone," she went on, still unwilling to say the plain 'dead'. "None of us could do it. I certainly couldn't. And Diego..."

"Couldn't do it either," he supplied, but she shook her head sharply in contradiction.

"_Must_ not have. Because he was right this morning. For him it would have been murder. And it would have destroyed him again." She didn't know what was wrong with her husband now, but she knew instinctively that his taking the sword to his old enemy would only have made it infinitely worse. She looked seriously up into Felipe's eyes, whispering with terrible emotion, "I want my husband back, Felipe, just the way he was."

"So do I," he shot back with the same sharp tone, shocking her a little. "And that's _why_ I did it. Because I can handle it, where he can't." He snorted derisively. "Just one more death, in a long line." Her shock must have shown in her eyes, because he blew out a breath sharply. "Aah. Don't think they don't bother me, Señora. They do. But I _can_ handle it. But now?" he asked, his demeanor changing subtly, somehow lightening up in the space of a quick sentence, as mercurial as ever. "The war is over, Señora. Even the battle for California has been won. De Soto was the last death in that battle. From now on..." he shook his head with a faintly amused snort. "It will just be the occasional outlaw, who goes down fighting, or is properly executed after a fair trial – and I will _not_ be the judge. We need to find one," he added aside, as if making a mental note, then came back, studying her.

"And you, and Diego, and Marianna and I, and Father, and Jaime, and Costa and Vargas," he started grinning as he listed the names, "and everyone else, hundreds, thousands..." His voice had gotten almost dreamy, and she wondered where he was headed with this. "...now we can start building, the society... the _country_... that we _want_ to have. With peace... and justice... honor and respect for everyone. The kind of world we want to give to our children. Hm?"

She knew her jaw had dropped open, as she stared at him. The boy wasn't gone after all; he was still there underneath, with all his hopes and dreams. The man, the Capitán, had found a way to try to bring those dreams to reality; a hard, bloody way, to be sure, but could she really say any other way would have worked?

She closed her mouth and blew her breath out through her nose, letting a tiny rueful smile claim her mouth. "Quiet little Felipe..." she said, "... all grown up."

He snorted and smiled back. "You had something to do with that," he reminded her of all those years before.

"Yes, I did," she replied airily. "I'm rather proud of that."

"You _should_ be!" he confirmed with mock arrogance, then laughed again.

"Oh, Felipe!" she cried, then threw her arms around his shoulders. "Welcome home!"

She felt him breath out; heard the smile in his voice. "I _am_ home," he agreed, full of wonder at the thought. "And I am _so_ glad to be here at last. Thank you."


	49. Chapter 49

_**Chapter Forty-Nine**_

"Excuse me," Diego's voice came from the doorway, full of calm outrage. "_What_ are you doing?"

Victoria gasped and pulled back out of her hug with Felipe, frantically trying to come up with an innocent explanation, even as she wondered why she needed one. All that flittered through her mind in a split second, before she saw Felipe's face. He had put on an exasperated look, while winking at her with the eye away from Diego.

"Stealing your woman," he told his brother casually as he turned that way and began to saunter past him. "Since you stole mine," he added.

"I didn't steal – " Diego began hotly, only to break off when Felipe grinned and pointed at him. _I told you so_ said his cheesy expression. "I liked him better when he couldn't speak," Diego said sourly after he had gone by.

"Too late!" came floating back.

"Or hear!" Diego shot after his brother. "I didn't used to be so slow on the uptake," he added to the air, disgusted with himself. He walked out to Victoria. "But what was that?"

"Speaking of slow on the uptake," she said, then pointedly put her head back and gazed around upwards.

He followed her gaze, then gasped, his face transforming into delight, mirroring Felipe's reaction a few minutes before. He even repeated him: "You did it! You made the canopy!"

"Yes! And he remembered where he'd seen it before," she added quickly, "on the ship across the ocean."

"Ah," was all Diego said.

"Diego," she took both his hands in hers, "come sit with me. Come talk to me, like you used to."

He smiled, his face all polite willingness, and let her lead him over to a far table. As they sat down opposite each other, clasping hands again across the surface, he looked around quickly. "Where's Paulo?"

"With the other children," she answered. "He's fine. That's an interesting group of people you brought with you," she went on, grabbing the first thought that came to her head.

"What do you mean?"

"How they all work together. Like one big family almost."

He nodded. "Communal living. They've been like that for the past few years – since long before I joined them. But it's a good way of living," he added thoughtfully.

"Well, I hope it rubs off on some of the people here," she said. "We could use a little more community spirit. Although," she added, "now that the main obstacle has been removed, perhaps it will be easier for everyone to work together." He nodded, but said nothing. She studied him for a moment, seeing again the strain and exhaustion around his eyes. He had just spent the morning assisting Doctor Ramirez. "Were many people badly wounded?" she asked quietly.

He shook his head. "Not really, no. Most of what we saw today were broken bones and the like. I don't expect to lose any more people."

"How many _did_ we lose?"

"I don't know," he sighed heavily. "Felipe will have the numbers by nightfall; he always does." Snorting softly, he gave his head a show shake. "My little brother..." he mused, "... has turned into an _amazing_ commander. Not just his fighting skills, but his... _people_ skills." He shook his head again, then added. "Los Angeles is in very good hands now. I don't doubt it at all."

"What about you?"

A smile got plastered on his face, one she didn't quite believe. "Oh, I am in _very_ good hands," he assured her, lifting said hands to kiss them both.

"Diego..." she faltered. "Diego," she tried again, "if I am going to help you, I need to know what's wrong. I can tell that something is. Please tell me. Please _talk_ to me, like you used to." She paused, then plunged, reaching for something, anything, that would get through to him. "Don't keep me out, like you did before."

He had almost stopped breathing, staring at her with surprise and a bit of fear. She _had_ touched the right nerve. "You're right," he finally whispered, lowering his eyes to stare at their hands. "I'm sorry. It's just... I don't..." he gave up, firming his lips.

After a moment, she lay it out. "I know that in the army, you went through hell." His eyes flickered at the word. "Jaime told us. I know that you were flogged, for palming bullets. And I know they forced him to do it. I know that it took you a long time to... heal from it, after you joined Felipe's company. I am trying to understand. But I don't know... what it is that is weighing you down so heavily now. What it is that has wounded your spirit so much. Please help me understand."

Silence reigned for several long minutes, as Diego stared at the table with a tortured gaze. Finally, he looked up at his wife, but when he started speaking, it was with perhaps the last name she expected. "Do you know what gave... Zorro... his power?" he asked quietly. She was startled, but remembered that after he had given it up, he always spoke of Zorro as another person. She shook her head, not knowing what he was after.

"Violence. Not the fact of it, but the threat of it. The knowledge that, with his skills – " He grimaced, and suddenly changed his ways. "With _my_ skills, with a sword, a whip, a gun, a horse... anything... all of my opponents knew that if they kept pushing, if it came to an open fight, that I _would_ win. I _would_ embarrass them, at least. I tried to end it at that. But they knew, too, that if they kept pushing, and kept pushing, until somebody died, that it would not be me. I tried not to kill, but... it was either an accident, or they gave me no choice."

She kept silent, letting him feel his way through, although she couldn't see yet where it was going.

"But in the army," he began again. Looking down, he turned his right wrist so she could see the ugly brand on the back of his hand, C for convict. "They gave me a gun, and made me use it. Made me kill. Victoria, I have absolutely no idea how many men died from a bullet from my gun. Dozens? Hundreds? Thousands maybe? God alone knows. After all that time, trying so hard, mostly successfully, to keep from taking life, I took so much..." He was staring at nothing again, nothing but horror.

She spoke up, trying to absolve him. "But... they _forced_ you to do it."

He shook his head, shocking her, his face anguished. "No they didn't. I could have refused. I could have said no, dropped the gun the first day. Faced the firing squad, the first day. It would have been that. My life would have ended, right there. But I wanted to _live._ I wanted to come home, to you. So I did what they asked. I marched, and I stood in line, and I pulled the trigger, over and over. So that I could someday come home, to you. I made the decision, a hundred times a day, that my life was more important to me than anyone else's." A long pause. "And now I have to live with that, for the rest of my life."

She swallowed and squeezed his hands. "I understand – " she began, but he cut her off ruthlessly.

"No, you _don't._ Not yet. I'm sorry, but you don't."

"Then tell me."

His face was wretched. "Last night... standing in the cavern... listening to those men overhead... wrecking _my _home... threatening _my_ wife, _my_ family..." He licked his lips. "Victoria, I was ready to go up there, and do it all over again. If Felipe had not _forced_ me to stand down, I would have. I would have taken a knife, and charged up beside him, and killed again." He stopped again, taking a sharp breath. "It's still there inside me, Victoria. The darkness. The evil. The ability... the willingness... to take a life."

She waited a moment, to make certain he was finished. "Diego... forgive me, but all you are telling me is that you are human. _Everyone_ has their dark side, their evil impulses." He drew breath to protest, but she stilled it with a finger over his lips. "No, let me speak. It's my turn."

Still, she had to take in a breath. "Diego... I _hated_ de Soto. Not just for what he did to you, but for everything else he's done, before and especially since. This last year... he was downright evil. So many things... and I _hated_ him for it. I would never have taken a gun or a knife – at least, I don't think so – but if I had ever had the chance... a bottle of poison in hand, and his drink there..." She shook her head. "I don't know what I would have done. I think it would have been easy for me to kill him that way." She paused again, remembering. "I told Father, after you were taken, that I was beginning to understand the Resendos, and how they could live with hate in their hearts. All these years since, I have understood them more and more. Until perhaps, I have become one of them."

He was staring at her now, his eyes tragic. She took another breath. "What I am saying, love, is that everyone has an evil side. Even the saints. What are their stories except for how they overcame their darkness?" She squeezed his hands again. "I'm not saying it's easy. It never is, not for you, not for me, not for anyone. But it's what life means." Finally running out of steam, she gave him a sad little smile. "I don't know if that helped."

After a beat, he squeezed her hands in return. "It did. A little." They sat for a time, then he gave her a small smile. "Well, if there is a little silver lining here, it's that if you are ever threatened again, I _will_ defend you. No matter what it takes. Don't worry about that."

"I never would," she replied. "But Diego..." she went on in the rawest whisper, tears now in her eyes. "I need you to promise me something else."

"What is it, love? Anything."

The tears began spilling over. "I need you to promise me... that you will _never_ be torn away from me again. I couldn't take it. I can't go through that again. I don't know how I made it through these five years. Please, Diego," she was begging now, "please... Promise me. I won't make it."

Her pain was reflected on his face now. He lifted one hand to her cheek, but what he said was not exactly what she wanted to hear. "Yes you would. You'd make it." His thumb slipped over her lips to silence her protest. "Ssh. My turn. Victoria... you are the _strongest_... _truest_... _bravest_ woman – _person_," he corrected himself, "that I have ever known. And your strength... comes from the _love_ in your heart. Not hate. You are _not_ a Resendo, my darling. You are an Escalante, and a de la Vega. And your strength... gives _me_ strength, no matter how far away I am."

He smiled then, and shook his head. "But I promise, we will _never_ have to test that again. Because I promise – no, I _swear_, on my own immortal soul, my darling, that I will _never_ leave your side again. No matter what." His lips quirked. "Not even an entire company of partisans could tear me away from you, ever again."

Suddenly pulling his hands away, he reached up behind his neck, undoing the catch and pulling the locket she had sent to him out from under his collar, then he reached across and reattached it around her own neck. "There. It's back where it belongs. And with those locks of hair inside, it carries my promise to you, that I will _never_ leave you again."

Tears were flowing down her cheeks, but she managed to stretch her lips into a smile. "Then..." she whispered, taking his hands again in hers. "As long as you are by my side – "

"And you are by mine," he interjected.

"Then we can both face anything."

"Together. Whatever comes."

He started to lean over to seal his promise with a kiss, but was suddenly startled by a multicolor glow from overhead. Glancing up, his entire face broke into the open, handsome smile he remembered. "The sun's come out!" he declared. It was lighting up the canopy from above, sending streams of colored light dancing around the patio and across the inhabitants.

"Yes," she agreed, not glancing away from his beloved face. "It has."

Looking at her again, he knew exactly what she meant. And as they both leaned across the table for a joyous kiss, the warmth of the sun exploded in her heart, warming her all the way to toes and fingertips, and she knew: their future, together, was very bright indeed.


	50. Epilogue

_**Epilogue**_

_Four decades later..._

Doña Victoria de la Vega sat in one of the two straight-backed chairs at the edge of the broad, opulent second-story balcony of the Grand Hotel Victoria, overlooking the Nueva Plaza Mayor, on a beautiful cloudless day in early spring. Beside her, on the second chair, sat her sister-in-law, Marianna. The two women were dressed in their finest clothes, bright silks embroidered within an inch of their lives and studded with tiny seed pearls, their silver hair done up in elegant chignons, jewels tastefully flashing from ears and fingers.

Behind the two family matriarchs, the large balcony was filled with their children, grandchildren, spouses of all, and even a few young great-grandchildren, all dressed to the nines. The plaza below, and the broad boulevard leading to it, was slowly filling around the edges with thousands of Los Angelinos; the sleepy pueblo having grown steadily into the small city it was now; even if well over half of the current residents were Anglo rather than Mexican, and the ratio continuing to climb inexorably. Occasionally one of the many citizens would wave and call a greeting to the Señoras, who smiled and waved back graciously.

Victoria's eldest son, Paulo, resplendent in his black tuxedo, leaned over her shoulder. "Father looks very handsome today, doesn't he?" It was Paulo who had first caught the wave of the real estate boom, selling the Rancho Valero to developers for a tremendous price and building the new hotel on the new main plaza, naming it still in his mother's honor, according to the family tradition.

"He is always handsome, even when he first gets up in the morning," Victoria replied smugly, with a smile down at her distant husband. Paulo laughed and straightened up again.

Across the plaza, Diego caught their looks and smiled back. "They're talking about us," he commented mildly to Felipe beside him.

"Of course they are," the other replied matter-of-factly. "Everybody is."

"And you love it," accused his brother, "being the center of attention. Don't deny it; I know you too well," he added to Felipe's look of smoldering outrage.

Felipe replaced the outrage with disgust. "Brothers," he commented under his breath as he returned to scanning the crowds, endlessly searching for trouble before it arose out of sheer habit.

The brothers were mounted on exactly-matching black Andalusian stallions, perfect replicas of each other and their distant forebear, Toronado, down to the stars on their foreheads; the latest scions of the famed Devil Wind Stables. Although their silver color matched their wives', they had each kept the same hairstyles through the years; Diego's hair cut shorter, with a smart mustache, while Felipe still rocked his ponytail and neat beard. Both were hatless, as was their lifelong habit.

Diego, on the right, was dressed all in black; his tailored silk suit looking plain and unadorned until one was close enough to see the intricate black embroidery adorning collar and cuffs. He was unarmed, as always. He had willingly served as alcalde off and on through the decades since their return to the sleepy pueblo, but his main source of professional pride was the job he had kept throughout: Superintendent of Schools. Generations of Los Angelinos now boasted fine educations thanks to his tireless efforts, and the city had an astonishingly high literacy rate. He hadn't stood for alcalde for several years, but the current incumbent, not wanting any part of the day, had resigned abruptly a few weeks before; the council had asked Don Diego to serve the part one last time and he had graciously agreed, proud to be sitting now beside his brother at the end.

Beside him, Colonel Felipe Marco de la Vega – he had grudgingly accepted promotions over the years as the population and his responsibilities grew – was comparatively resplendent in his crisply-starched and properly-bedecked red-and-blue dress uniform. He only wore a few small medals and the minimum of gold braid, silent rebuke to those who made up for their lack of real experience in gaudy display. He, however, was fully armed: a polished rifle sat in its holster on the saddle, a pearl-handled revolver was on his right hip, while on his left hung an elegant filigreed silver sword: the fabled sword of Zorro, polished and honed to killing sharpness every week.

Behind the pair, two dozen of Felipe's finest troops were lined up in two impressive rows, mounted on horses curried and polished, dressed likewise in their finest dress uniforms and sporting the same lethal arms. They were by no means all of his large command; the rest had been dismissed the day before in preparation for this momentous event.

The day had been a long time in coming. Indeed, Diego had seen it a full decade in advance, and insisted, as the family patriarch, that his entire family begin learning English. When he had made the announcement and given his reasons from his end of the long formal dinner table, Felipe had glared at him disgustedly from the other end and muttered something in Italian under his breath. Diego had smiled pointedly at his brother, and proposed a bet: whichever one spoke the language better at the end of one year, the other would hand over his favorite riding horse. Felipe had stared, laughed, and accepted.

When she was appealed to at the end of the year, Mrs. Browning, the widowed, retired schoolteacher from Kansas City who Diego had hired to tutor the whole family – kept entirely unaware of the bet – had thrown up her hands in abdication. She couldn't possibly pick one of them; they were equal in ability, albeit manifested in different ways. Don Diego, she said, had a broader, richer vocabulary, but Don Felipe spoke English with much greater ease and facility. The two brothers had shared amusedly disgusted glances, broke into laughter simultaneously, and simply traded horses.

"I'll be glad when this is over," Felipe muttered now. "No matter which way it goes."

"So will I," agreed Diego.

At that moment, a low roar rolled towards the pair from the broad boulevard opposite, resolving into cheering crowds. "He's arrived," Diego commented unnecessarily.

"He's late," Felipe snarled. Diego didn't argue the point.

Up the boulevard trotted a company of American cavalry, four abreast, with Major Thomas P. Smithton atop his flashy white quarter-horse at its head. The flags of the United States and the unit snapped in the breeze, held aloft by two men immediately behind the Major. Unlike Felipe, his uniform was awash in ribbons and medals, his shoulder epaulets dripping gold braid – even his tall cap gleamed with flashy adornment. He sat his gelding with disdainful ease, soaking in the welcoming cheers of the crowd even as he pretended to ignore them. As they trotted into the square, however, he glanced to his left, spotting a pair of patrician ladies sitting on a balcony watching him, and he tipped his head proudly to them, thinking to make an impression.

Victoria nodded sagely back, while Marianna simply snapped open her old ivory fan and began fluttering it, turning to give her sister a droll look. She didn't need to say a word. Victoria snickered, hiding it behind a silk handkerchief. Later, a few claimed the fan was a signal to Marianna's husband, but the Capitán had never needed such a thing.

Major Smithton led his company directly across the plaza towards the broad new gates of the expanded military garrison, lifting his hand to signal the halt as he stopped several paces before the de la Vegas. In a loud voice, he proclaimed, "On behalf of the United States government, I, Major Thomas P. Smithton, hereby take command of this city, in the newly-formed US Territory of California."

Diego had drawn breath to speak before he was preempted, and now he politely waited a beat to make sure the man was finished. "Welcome to Los Angeles, Major Smithton," he said pleasantly in English, loud enough to carry across the plaza. "I am Mayor Diego de la Vega, and this is my brother – "

That was as far as he got. "Thank you, gentlemen, we will take it from here. That will be all," Smithton nearly drawled, bored disdain for his Mexican predecessors seeping out with every word.

The brothers glanced quickly at each other before Diego turned back and tried again. "We would be happy to show you around, and render you any assistance – "

Again, he was interrupted. "I said, that will be all." Smithton's handsome face was marred by the supercilious expression, one the brothers had seen all too often on Spanish grandees.

"I do believe we are being dismissed, Colonel," Diego dropped into Spanish and a deceptively mild conversational tone, keeping his face pleasant.

"I believe you are correct, Alcalde," Felipe returned in the same language. He turned to his brother. "Ready, Zorro?"

Diego nodded back once, his expression amusedly resigned. "Give the word, Halcón."

"The word is given." Reaching across his body, Felipe smoothly drew his sword from its scabbard and held it aloft. A beat later, the two dozen soldiers behind, waiting for the signal, had drawn theirs in unison, pointing them forward above their horses' heads. Diego saw the Major's eyes roll at this macho display and smirked. With a single word, Felipe pulled his stallion into a showy rear, standing suspended while pawing at the air – which Diego's horse, not to be outshone by his cousin, echoed beside him, while Diego chuckled and held his seat with ease. Then Capitán Halcón drew in a deep breath and let it out in a piercing whistle, echoing the scream of a gigantic hawk: his old signal to attack, that he hadn't had reason to use in decades.

Now the Major was alarmed. Were the darn fool Mexicans thinking of _attacking?_

He didn't have time to react, as Felipe, with a single yelled "_Hyah!_" drove his stallion into an instant run from the two-legged stance, Diego following a half-second behind. Now the Major frantically tried to draw his pistol, but his horse had another – better – idea, flinging itself to the side out of the path of the charge. Smithton could only watch in insulted anger, fighting to keep his seat, as the two men galloped past, with the remaining soldiers falling in two by two behind, driving a wedge right down the middle of the American company. The sour capper was when he glanced back at the balcony and saw the two ladies ignoring him, standing and cheering the departing horsemen along with everyone else.

Once they were gone, the Major simply turned his horse without a word and spurred in through the open gates, his company falling in again behind – only to find it absolutely empty, not even a single scrap of paper left behind. Felipe, looking ahead and prepared for the worst in humanity, unlike his brother, had ordered his men to remove _everything_ in the days before, and would have been happy to return it – even just the maps – had the Major simply asked politely. He never did, so had to start over from absolute scratch.

Down the broad boulevard the de la Vega brothers thundered on their magnificent mounts; followed by the troop of Mexican veterans, swords flashing overhead, laughing and whooping; cheered on ecstatically by the thousands of Los Angelinos, their long-time friends and neighbors, lining the street.

Down the boulevard, out of the city, into the desert, and into history; the last ride of Zorro and Halcón.

_**El Fin**_

* * *

_._

_Thank you so much for sticking with me through all three stories - and a very special, HUGE thank you to everyone who took the time to review as I went. Your encouragement along the way was worth diamonds! Thank you so very much!_

_\- Lilac_


End file.
